HEAVY INFERNO
by Sefirosukuraodo
Summary: Two years have passed since FBI Agent Norman Jayden gunned down the Origami Killer, and a new madman roams the streets of the city; The Barbershop Killer. But that's not why Norman's returned to this hole of a town. Total Fluffy Norman/Ethan, Slash, M/M
1. Prologue: Jessica

PROLOGUE: JESSICA

My hands were bound above my head. That's the first thing I realized when I swam up from the depths of black unconsciousness. I wiggled my fingers, cold and stiff. My body was sore as hell, and I could feel bruises stinging me as I moved on the table I was strapped to.

Then my eyes shot open as I realized that I was really tied to a table. The dream became reality, and the surreal became fucking frightening.

I immediately screamed the word help, but no word could be formed with the bandana twisted and tied in my mouth. I shook my arms to see if I could slip my arms from the rope, but unfortunately for me it was duct tape, and wrapped pretty damn hard.

_Stay calm, Jessica,_ I thought to myself. _You can get out of this if you just stay cool_.

I tried to remember what had happened, how I got here. The last thing I remembered was checking in on a patient and finding them dead, having passed away in their sleep.

A hooded figure stood above my head. The only thing I could make out was a paper mask; a wolf with a maniacal grin.

I wanted to ask what my capture wanted, but I couldn't work a single word out of my mouth while gagged.

The wolf held up one hand, and flicked something into the light; a razor. I'd recognized that straight razor, I'd seen it years ago, and fear welled in my stomach as I realized who it was.

Desmond.

The wolf walked around the table and ran fingers along my naked body, slipping a few between my thighs as I cried and shook to free myself. But I couldn't move.

I asked him why, but my words were muffled.

Cold steel slipped between my legs, and I felt the first sting of the razor as it dug its way effortlessly inside of my most coveted organ, my most sensitive flesh. It burned like fire licking my womb.

The first slice was the least painful moment of the hellish torture that would await me. I just didn't know it yet.


	2. Chapter 1: Fire

1. FIRE

I parked my car against the curb on the opposite side of the street, cutting the engine and peering through the window. The house looked empty. My intel had led me to believe that the Mars' still lived in that house. Was I off base and too late?

I stepped out of the car and crossed the street to scope out the windows on the front of the place. No lights, no TV, just a quiet home at rest without anyone there to disturb it. Could have been taking a nap, I thought.

I knocked, and listened beyond the rain and slosh of cars driving through the flooded streets. I knocked again, but there was no answer. I supposed that I'd have to try the house later.

I didn't understand why I'd even come back to this place. This was a stupid impulse, an irrational maneuver on my part. What good was a detective if he couldn't put rationality before his crazy desires?

I guess it didn't matter in the end; I was already here, jet-lagged and checked into my motel room. It wasn't exactly as nice and pristine as the hotel room I'd been living in the last time I'd had my brief encounter with East End. This dump was dingy, and rife with stenches I didn't even want to identify. Two years ago I would've just run all of these stains and odorous pathogens through the ARI network, maybe even find evidence and bust a criminal or two. But I didn't have that option anymore, and the FBI wasn't paying to keep me in this hole, so I had to accept my surroundings and take what I could afford.

But I still couldn't quite come to terms with the fact that I was back in this hellish pit of a city. For one, I came back in October. It had already rained up to my balls and newscasters were expecting one hell of a storm in a few short days. Secondly, I couldn't shake the foolish grudge I'd held against this place; the dirty cops, and grimy politicians had sullied its good name for me, and that's not even including the Origami Killer's runaround game he'd put me through. The only consolation I got from that whole ordeal was the pleasure of pumping lead into that sanctimonious psychopath.

I flipped on the bathroom light and swore that I saw a cockroach scuttle behind the commode. I looked into my eyes; a little rough around the edges but not too bad today. I might even have a smooth ride.

A tremor shook my hand and that hope became a passing thought of despair. "Get a hold of yourself, Jayden."

So much for an easy ride. Still, I came here to prove something and I intended to do just that. I wrapped my pea coat around my shivering frame and flipped the color against the wind, grabbing my keys and slipping onto the freeway.

The ibuprofen in the glove compartment helped with the stinging headache brought on by the chilling moisture in the atmosphere, but nothing could help with the clammy feeling on my hands. Luckily for me no one would ask too many questions about the cold sweats if I spent enough time coming and going from the rain.

'We're sorry, Agent 47023,' they said. 'There's nothing more that we can do for you at this stage.'

Fucking bureaucrats.

Nine o'clock in the evening, sun long gone and darkness settled. Still, no lights or movement inside of the house. I'd been prepared for such a case, which was why I'd opted for a black hoodie and jeans on this night visit. I just had to slip inside and find out if the Mars' did indeed still live there. If they'd moved recently there might be some evidence of a forwarding address. It was a slim shot, but I didn't have much else to go on here. I didn't exactly have the resources that I used to.

I cut across the street, careful to remain out of the street lights. I slipped through the alley between houses and hopped the fence. It groaned and shrieked under my grip and weight, but the noise couldn't be avoided so I tried to be as quick about it as possible.

I took a quick look around the back yard. I'd never actually been inside of Ethan Mars' house and often wondered what it would say about him as a man. The yard was splotchy, with patches of mud and dead grass that had grown out of control. Weeds had conquered a small bicycle beside a basketball hoop. Not far was the deflated basketball.

It definitely wasn't worth studying for too long; I made my way up the back patio steps and out of the rain. Both back doors were open, simple screen doors with nothing to keep an intruder from barging inside. Careful not to make too much noise on the creaky patio, I slipped my shoes off of my feet and left them by the door to keep from tracking mud inside of the house and leaving evidence.

The kitchen was simple, practically barren save a table and a clock beside my head. A simple note had been left on the black chalkboard beside the sink:

_I promise I won't be too late tonight. Please make sure that Shaun takes his pills at exactly 7 p.m._

_Thanks for looking after him – Ethan_

Well, at least now I had concrete evidence that Ethan and Shaun Mars still lived here. Whoever was watching Shaun must have taken him out somewhere, because the house was deader than a rat in a snake pit.

I strolled into the living room and admired the furniture; modern, comfortable, and inviting. I contemplated giving that couch a test drive, to see just how close to heaven it was, but I knew that was a surefire way to leave evidence behind. Even a single hair could be gently rubbed out of my scalp if I leaned it back on those cushions.

Evidence? What was I saying? This was Ethan's home, not a crime scene! I shook the paranoia out of my face like a heady smoke and entered the hallway. The entrance, an open bathroom door, nothing grandeur to see here. But a sliver of light splash across the wall above the stairs caught my attention and gnawed on my curiosity.

I set one foot on the stairs and it immediately squeaked; I winced and tensed my body, waiting for any reaction. No sounds of shuffles or movement, looks like no one was home or everyone was asleep. Either way I had to be a lot more careful not to push any buttons too eagerly, but instead ease into the motions. I kept my creeping to the sides of the steps instead of the center, where my weight would be far more likely to set off another wooden grunt.

At the top of the stairs I saw the source of the light, a cracked door to the right. I peeked inside; night lights lit up Shaun's room with a soft firefly glow, and he slept soundlessly in his bed. He'd be twelve now, I realized. I wondered how he could sleep so soundly after what he'd been through. I was a thirty-five year-old man and couldn't sleep to save my life and I hadn't been the one kidnapped and locked away in a well for days on end without food. Shaun was lucky to be alive after prolonged starvation and having his body exposed to water like that for so long. I know he couldn't have been happy with the liquid glucose diet he had to endure to get his organs functional again. But that's what happens when you let your stomach fall useless.

I had to keep a groan from slipping through my mouth when I heard the faint click of a gun hammer just waiting to knock a bullet right into my body.

"Put your hands above your head," whispered the gun-wielder, a woman. It was probably the babysitter – guess in these times a high school sitter needed a gun. Then a new thought came to me; what if it wasn't the sitter? It hadn't occurred to me to think that Ethan might have a girlfriend, or could have even remarried. Maybe I just refused to countenance the thought of him getting together with someone else. "Now!"

The quiet hiss of her voice snapped me out of my reveries and I complied. I brought my hands to the back of my head as I knelt down to the floor.

"You don't want to shoot me," I whispered. "Trust me, we can talk this out."

"You can talk it out with the police once they take you to the station," she said. I felt the cold metal tip of the handgun press into the back of my scalp and swallowed. One shaky twitch from this broad's finger and that would be the story of me. "Get your ass up."

I stood compliantly, careful to keep my movements slow and steady as I balanced my way back onto my feet. If I died here it would be no one's fault but my own – she had every right to blast my brains into little Shaun's room.

_Fuck, Norman – how could you be such a dumbass!_

"Move," she said. She nudged my head forward with the barrel of the gun and I didn't wait to ask questions. She urged me down the stairs and finally into the living room, careful to creep as quietly as I did.

My irides painfully contracted as she flipped on the bright lights, and I felt her snatch the hoodie off of my head as I squinted against the lamps.

"Turn around," she said.

"Listen, I know what you must be thinking but I'm not the bad guy here," I said calmly, trying to reason with her.

"Don't talk, just turn around," she demanded. I did so slowly, figuring that at the very least she might let me go for obedience. I locked eyes with her and we both fell silent for a moment as recognition and surprise gripped our tongues.

"Agent Jayden?" she asked.

"Madison Paige, good to see you, too," I said. As caustic as it may have been, I really was relieved that it was her and not a young, trigger-happy babysitter. "Mind of I put my hands down?" The tingle of blood loss was beginning to irritate the nerves in my fingertips.

"Of course." She lowered the gun and sat it down on the table beside the door, stepping toward me. I lowered my arms and shook my hands out. I'd been held up before and despite the gun in my face and my life at stake, the thing that always bothered me the most was holding my hands above my head and the tingling feeling that followed suit.

"What are you doing here?" Madison asked.

"Just in the neighborhood, thought I'd drop by and see how Ethan and Shaun were doing," I said.

"You didn't think that using the front door would have been a better option?" she asked.

"I guess it hadn't occurred to me. In my line of work you get used to sleuthing and knocking in a back door or two," I laughed. She smiled with me, but eyed me suspiciously. I was never any good at lying to begin with.

"What brings you back? I thought you hated this city," Madison said. "Working a new case?"

"No, I just needed a change of scenery. As it turns out I can only take so much sunshine and relaxation before it drives me insane." I sat on the couch and leaned my head back to enjoy the experience; no point in worrying about leaving behind evidence now. Totally worth it as I settled my exhausted bones into the plush cushions.

"Are you taking vacation leave or something?" she asked.

"Yeah, something like that." It was a vacation, all right: a permanent one.

The sound of the front door unlocking, click by click, had me sitting upright and checking over my shoulder to see the man of the hour. The door flew open and I could hear the downpour in the streets, and the cold breeze as it gusted into the house.

"Madison?" Ethan called.

"In here," she said. He shut the door and stepped into the living room, holding the gun in his hand with a strange, confused look plastered to his brow.

"Why is there a handgun by my mail?" he asked. He looked up at her, and then his eyes darted to me once he realized that there was company. "Agent Jayden?"

"Norman," I said with a smile. I stood and extended my hand to shake, but Ethan came at me too quickly to react. He threw his arms around me and embraced me. I awkwardly patted his back once I regained control over my limbs and shared a strange glance with Madison. When he pulled away he had a wide, warm smile on his face.

"That wasn't exactly the type of greeting I'd been expecting," I said. He placed both hands on my shoulders and drew in a deep breath through his nose.

"You gave me my life back; you gave me my son back," he said. And it was enough. The way he looked at me, you'd think I was friggin' Elvis Presley.

I nodded with a small smile and he let go.

"Would either of you like a drink?" Ethan asked.

"Actually I had to leave an hour ago – I have a contact to meet for a story I've been working on and I'm lucky that he agreed to wait for me," Madison said. She stood up and took the gun from Ethan's hand and slipped it back inside of her little handbag.

"Thanks for watching Shaun for me, I really appreciate it," Ethan said.

"It was no problem at all. Shaun's always fun to hang out with," she said.

"Well I know that he really enjoys your company," Ethan said. He grabbed her coat from the rack and held it up so that she could slip her arms inside the sleeves. "Call me tomorrow about the deck."

"Will do - ciao!" With that said she rushed off into the rain as Ethan closed the door behind her. He lingered there for a moment, lost in thought, until he remembered me, standing in his living room.

"Right, that drink," he said as he rounded the couch and made his way into the kitchen. "What would you like?"

"Something strong," I said.

"I've got Tequila," Ethan said.

"Too strong." I wanted a buzz, not a blackout.

"Then how about a beer?" Ethan asked.

"Perfect," I said. I stretched my arms around the back of the couch and leaned back. I could get used to this couch – I didn't know what made it so freakin' amazing, but I had to find out. However, once Ethan handed me the long-necked bottle and smiled, the couch was miles away from my focus.

He sat down beside me and raised his bottle to toast.

"So… how's life for you and Shaun?" I asked. Ethan chuckled a bit, slightly sardonic but mostly humorous as he knocked back a swig from his bottle.

"Let's just say we don't exactly allow origami figures in this house anymore," he said.

"Shame – as an architect I would've thought it would be a hobby of yours," I said.

"It used to be." I took another drink as I studied him for a moment. I'd never seen his without a beard before. Not that he was by any means clean shaven, with three-day stubble on his face, but still tidier than it used to be. His blue eyes were clear like a summer's day, and his hair had grown a bit longer, draping across his forehead and hovering just above his brows.

Then, as I watched him life his bottle with his left hand to take another drink, I saw the only imperfection on him, a reminder of a darker time in his life.

"Shaun's taken up painting, he's actually quite good at it," Ethan said with a proud smile. Then something dark flooded his eyes, weighing them down; sorrow, or some semblance of it. "He doesn't get out of the house much these days."

"Why not?" I asked. Ethan hesitated, debating on whether or not he could confide in me. "It's all right if you don't want to share, I just have a tendency to ask questions; it's a habit."

"No, no, it's fine," Ethan said. He sat his beer on the table and leaned forward, lacing his fingers together before his eyes and staring into the blank, black face of the TV.

"Ever since what happened, Shaun hasn't been able to handle water well," Ethan said. "You should have seen him two years ago: I couldn't get him into a bath without him fighting me all the way, kicking and screaming. When he rains, we won't go outside for days, sometimes weeks, until it's all stopped and cleared up."

"Hydrophobia," I said. I was lightly familiar with the condition, I knew a guy in high school with a mild case of it. He couldn't handle being around large bodies of water for too long. Some assholes felt like picking on him one day, throwing him into the school's pool after school. They didn't know that he couldn't swim, and he ended up drowning. Case was shrugged off as an accident and those three fucks got off with community service.

"His mother and I home school him now," Ethan said.

"Do you think that it's really healthy for him to stay locked up in his room?" I asked. Running from his fears wasn't going to help him, and neither was coddling him.

"What else am I supposed to do?" Ethan asked edgily. I'd stricken a chord in him and I immediately bit my tongue.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it," I said. "I shouldn't have said anything. It's none of my business."

Ethan picked up his bottle and took a long drink this time.

"It's not you, it's me," Ethan said. "I can't tell Shaun to try and work through it when I can't even face my own fears. I won't be a hypocrite with my son. I've gone through too much with him to ruin everything now. I have him back, he's safe, and he's going to therapy once a week. That's good enough for me."

I sat there in silence, wanting to ask more about these fears of Ethan's, but decided not to take him down that road, not tonight.

"Hey, I understand." I gripped his shoulder and he looked up into my eyes. I wondered what he thought of me being in town again, of my presence right now. Was I a negative reminder of days that would haunt him? Would I, in turn, haunt him? What would Shaun think when he saw me? Would I be a constant reminder of being locked beneath impenetrable bars as rainwater slowly snuffed out his life? Would he be thrown into darker thoughts when he saw me?

I hadn't thought about what my visit would do to the both of them. And even though Ethan was smiling genuinely as me after I'd tried to offer some comfort, the thought of being a shit-storm rampaging through their emotions stirred me, and suddenly I felt short of breath.

"Do you mind if I use your bathroom?" I asked.

"Er, sure – up the stairs and straight ahead. The downstairs toilet is off limits until I can stop it from overflowing," he said. I nodded thankfully and sat my beer down, stepping around the couch and quietly making my way up the stairs.

I shut the door and leaned against it, taking deep breaths. I stumbled forward, placing my hands on the counter to support myself and staring into the eyes of my reflection.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Norm?" I asked myself. Their lives weren't something to toy around with, and my being here could have majorly negative impacts on both of their lives.

I turned on the faucet and ran my hands underneath the warm water and wiped away the cold sweat on the bridge of my nose, my cheeks, my forehead, and the back of my neck. It took a few more deep, calm breaths before I could work up the courage to walk back downstairs to Ethan, but not before sneaking another peek into Shaun's room. Poor kid; he was going to have a rough life ahead of him. Plagued to be forever known as the only Origami victim to live.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs I saw the news broadcast on the TV. Ethan must have turned in on, thinking I'd be longer.

"You don't look so good," Ethan said as I sat back down.

"I haven't been sleeping well." More like sleeping _at all_. Aside from naps I hadn't slept more than an hour in a few weeks. I felt like my sanity was breaking, and I needed something to ground me. I didn't know why, but something in my fucked up psyche told me that this anchor I'd been searching for could be found in Ethan, somewhere somehow. So, here I was.

"Madison has trouble sleeping too, Chronic Insomnia." Ethan laughed bitterly. "Aren't we a happy group of people? Insomnia, Hydrophobia, and me with Ochlophobia."

"Octo-what?" I asked.

"Ochlophobia – I can't handle crowds of people," he said quietly. He was clearly ashamed in his confession.

His eyes darted up when he heard something about a Barber, I wasn't focused enough to hear it until he turned up the volume.

"This marks the fourth victim to the killer, police are live on the scene," said the news caster. "M.O. suggests the work of the Barbershop Killer, though police have yet to officially confirm this. The victim, twenty-eight year-old Jessica Greene, was a Geriatric's Ward night nurse. Friends and family reported her missing three days ago and have been informed of her discovery."

Ethan pressed the power button and cut the report short, staring at the table with sullen eyes.

"What's that all about?" I asked.

"The Barbershop Killer," Ethan said bitterly. "Been all over the news for the last few months. He abducts women and cuts them up with a straight razor in ways that I can't even begin to imagine."

He killed the bottle and slammed it down on the table. "Not that I'm saying that I'm glad that he's out there killing these poor girls: I'm just glad that he's not targeting little boys."

After a few more beers and steering the subject far away from the Barbershop Killer, the evening turned out a lot smoother than I'd expected it to be. My hands trembled again with tremors, but not long enough to get concerned.

After Ethan dozed off I watched him quietly for a while. What was it like in that head of his? What did it feel like to wield courage the likes of which I'd never seen, let alone experienced? Ethan was practically superhuman, with unmatched compassion and bravery. I'd tasted it two years ago when we were in that interrogation room. I could see the man inside illuminating him like a lighthouse.

He was beautiful. And ever since he'd crossed my path I couldn't shake the thought of him.

I wondered what he felt like. I contemplated reaching out and touching his hand, his face. But even with a few beers and a pretty good buzz I wasn't brazen enough to actually find out. At least I thought so, until I watched my hand lift itself and slowly make its way toward him.

I reached out and briefly, gently, ran a few fingers down his forearm, starting just below the sleeve of his tee-shirt and brushing the hairs down to his wrist. I was testing the waters to see if he'd stir. He didn't. I took another drink and swallowed, my curiosity swelling even bigger than my conscience. I reached further up.

I curled my fingers and gently stroked the side of his face, feeling the warmth of his flesh as I swept a soft lock of mahogany hair out of his face.

I wondered what his lips tasted like, and how they felt. How would they move against mine?

I let my hand drop to my side at that thought and frowned; I knew that I could be a little fucked up at times but I was crossing some limits that were uncomfortable even for me. For fuck's sake, I was feeling up an unconscious man without his consent here – granted it wasn't anything near molestation but I didn't like the path I was traveling here.

I killed what was left in the beer bottle and quietly sat it down on the table. I stood up and headed for the front door, turning out the lights as I did so, reaching for the door handle.

"Did I fall asleep?" I heard him asked. I could hear him stretch and pull in a deep breath that turned into a yawn, giving me the vision even through the darkness.

"Yeah, I didn't want to wake you up," I said.

"Are you leaving?" he asked. "I mean, do you have somewhere to go? If not, you can bunk here while you're in town. I have a spare room. Well, it's my office, but you're welcome to it."

"I rented a motel room earlier today," I said. It sounded a bit disappointed, I could hear it clearly in my voice like a wind chime in the night. Part of me wanted to accept the invitation, but I didn't want to push myself too far.

He told me to come by anytime and let him know if I'd changed my mind, and I damn near turned around right then. But I stayed focused and stood my ground. He gave me his number and I bid him a good night and shut the front door behind me. As I walked down the steps and out into the rain, I felt my feet sink into sloppy mud, and water flood between my toes. I looked down at my sock-clad feet, forgetting that my shoes were on Ethan's back patio.

"Fuck."


	3. Chapter 2: A Joke

2. A JOKE

The tape. It was in a simple, weather-proof manila envelope lined with bubble wrap. It had only my name written in black marker: JAYDEN.

Inside was a VHS tape, no label or anything to distinguish it from any other, just a black tape. Unfortunately I didn't have a VHS player and hadn't the slightest clue where to find one aside from going to a store and buying a brand new one. The problem there was that not many stores kept VHS players in their inventory anymore, not since the cassette tape had become an archaic antiquity and DVD's & Blu-ray discs ruled the earth.

But I had to wonder what was on the tape. More than that, I had to wonder who would leave it here for me, and most importantly, how did anyone know that I was here? I hadn't told anyone where I was staying.

Someone was keeping tabs on me, and probably had been before the airplane had even landed in town.

I asked the desk clerk if he'd seen anyone loitering around the place, but to no avail.

"What the fuck is on this tape?" I had to know. But it would have to wait; first, I had to find a joint that could cook some decent food around here.

I went strolling around the block. This city was a dump. Didn't this town have a sanitation department? I couldn't believe that people actually lived here. I swear that a rat pulled a knife on me and tried to mug me before scurrying off into an alley.

Hilary's. If there's anywhere you can count on to get some good old fashioned American cheeseburgers, the kind that stick to the walls of your arteries as much as your gut, it's an out-of-sight diner with an out-of-date neon sign with an out-of-commission waitress who's been working there fifty-years too long and a bad attitude.

I smiled as I sat in a booth. The waitress sat her spit cup right on my table while an indistinguishable sound resonated through her nose as she tried to clear some disgusting mucus or some blockage from her sinus cavity.

Just like home, I thought.

After a nasty cough and a near-heart attack, she was able to pull out her notebook and get to work. "What can I get'cha?"

"Cheeseburger, no pickles, mayo on the side," I said.

"Comin' right up," she said.

I watched rain streak down the windows in streams and blotches, and wondered what went through Shaun's mind when he saw the rain from his window. What made the water so frightening to him when he knew that it wasn't to blame? That it was the work of an unbalanced madman who meant to use his life as a tool of testing his dad?

Why didn't he fear the man who'd shot her mother instead of the rain?

Shot her mother? Man, I had to stay in constant focus before my mind wandered. I had to focus on Shaun Mars. The kid needed help, otherwise his entire life could be one messed up Jackson Pollock painting, splotches of red memories and black fear.

Ethan didn't sound too well off either. Shelby had really messed people up.

A plate clinked onto the counter before me and I looked up to thank my Quasimodo-esque waitress when I saw someone else in her stead; a young redhead with a smile like sunshine.

"Uh, where's the other lady?" I asked.

"I just took over her shift, I'm Monica," she said. "Please don't tell me that you intend to eat that."

"I ordered it, didn't I?" I asked. "What's so bad about it?"

"Nothing, except that it tastes like grilled toilet paper seasoned with feet and wedged between two slices of cardboard," she said. "And when the customer eats bad food, I don't get tips."

"Well I'm already past the point of no return, I'll have to face my bad choice and live with it," I said. She leaned in closely and placed her lips near my ear.

"Maybe I can make it up to you on the cook's behalf?" She whispered.

I couldn't say anything; I didn't want to say anything. She stood up with a wink and made her way to another table.

_Yeesh, what a piece of work_, I thought.

I'd never had a girlfriend in my life. Not that I couldn't use one – there were plenty of times when having one on my arm would've made my life so much simpler. The problem was that I didn't want one. There were some guys in my shoes who could stomach one, and then there were the lucky ones that went both ways, but I was never the type to lie to myself or to my family. My family's always been loving and understanding, but I knew that my parents would be ashamed to know that their only son was an Anal Astronaut, so I just put my feelings aside to spare them the embarrassment. I managed to keep the yearning for another man's touch at bay by submerging my entire life into my degree and then my work. And it did the job; I was always too busy for a relationship, or even friends. I'd become immensely successful but had sacrificed the essential skill of building relationships with people, friend or otherwise.

Then Pop died when I was twenty-five. I knew that it would happen, and in fact I'd hoped that they would die proud of me without ever finding out about my feelings – that was the goal. But I didn't realize just how I would feel after all was said and done.

What I hadn't expected to rule my life was regret. A part of me, a large part of me that had waited way too long to expose itself to me, had wanted my dad to die knowing who his son was; who I was. I thought I wanted him to be proud of the image of me, but I realized too late that I wanted him to be proud of me for who I was, and not what I did.

So one day, a couple of years later, my Ma asked when I was going to settle down and get married. I said when the laws in the country changed. Being sharp as a tack, she didn't need any further explanation than that. And it was never brought up again.

She called me less and less after that. Her phone calls had been reduced from every other day to every other week, and then only on holidays, until we'd come to where we were now: the last call I'd received from her was on my birthday – three years ago.

In no way am I unhappy with the major choices in my life. I wasn't miserable, I was actually quite happy for the most part. But I do wish that I could go back and do some things differently.

"Sir?" I was snapped out of my reflections when my waitress waved her hands before my face. I looked up at her and she smiled. "You've been sitting here for an hour and haven't touched your food."

"An hour?" I glanced down at my watch. Son of a gun, it really had been an hour.

"Are you ready for your check?" She asked. I nodded with a smile and looked down at the burger. I shrugged and swept it up into my hands, braving a bite.

Cold, soggy, and gritty. She was right about the flavor. I thought that she was just being facetious; turns out it really did taste like feet and toilet paper. Not that I had personal experience tasting either, but the sense of smell gave me enough to work with.

She placed the receipt on the counter, along with her name and number on the back. I fought the urge to roll my eyes and smiled instead. Maybe she wouldn't be disappointed that I didn't call if I leave her a twenty-dollar tip. Then again, that might make her think that I'm interested.

In any case, I left the tip, paid at the register, and headed for the door.

That was until a tremor shook my leg, and my body jerked back on its own, making it hard for me to regain my balance. It jerked again, and I stumbled onto the counter.

"Fuck, not now," I said through gritted teeth.

"Are you all right?" Monica asked.

I looked down at the hands gripping the counter, my hands but out of my control. A drop of blood splashed across the glass counter, above the pie display, quickly joined by another red drop and another. And another, and another. I could feel the warm ooze of blood as it poured down the contour of my upper lip.

"Oh my god, your nose," she said. I could feel it gushing, but I couldn't bring my hand up to stop it because I couldn't move a muscle.

A spasm knocked my legs from beneath me and I fell, unable to move as my body involuntarily jerked all over, unable to ask for help as my jaw clenched and unclenched of its own accord. Unable to control.

I don't remember feeling much once I blacked out other than cold sweats. I was in a black place, somewhere that my mind knew I didn't want to be, yet here it brought me. The little girl cried, and I was left holding the gun.

The feeling of pressure on my forehead, and a cool, wet rag took me by the hand and pulled me out of my guilt, a tar pit that I tried to keep locked away.

I opened my eyes, and found myself inside of a dim room lit only by the last remaining light from outside. I could tell that it was early evening; I'd lost quite a few hours of my day.

I focused on the hand that wiped the sweat from my face and tried to move my own. I was able to flex my fingers and bring my fist up in front of me, but I wouldn't exactly say that I had much control over it yet.

Then I saw his face; his kindly compassionate eyes and his gentle smile. I realized that I was in Ethan's living room, and that this was the couch I'd loved so much.

"Look who's finally awake," he said with a grin.

I tried to sit up, but he pushed me back down. "I wouldn't try to move yet, you've lost a lot of blood. By the time I got you to the diner the paramedics had stopped the bleeding but no one had cleaned up the blood on the tile inside. Looked like a pint at least."

"It definitely feels like it," I said. It was hard to focus, my mind kept teetering on decisions; whether to drag me back into guilt or leave me be for now.

"What happened?" Ethan asked. "What kind of illness or disease causes a man to bleed from his eyes and nose?"

"It's nothing," I said. Ethan frowned and let the subject go. He ran the rag across my face again, and I felt my body involuntarily move into his touch. It was gentle, and sincere.

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" He asked.

"Knock yourself out," I groaned. It was hard to breathe at the moment, like a pillowcase filled with bricks had been placed squarely on my chest.

"Why am I the only phone number in your phone?" he asked.

I wasn't even conscious enough to ask myself how he knew where I was, or why anyone would call him of all people.

"It's a new phone, I didn't have time to program anyone else," I said. "I put you in last night because you were right there."

Ethan nodded, seeming to accept that as logical. The truth was that it wasn't really a new phone. The only contacts I'd had for the last few years were all work-related. Now that I no longer had my badge and gun, I no longer needed those contacts. That left an empty phone.

"You know, something you said last night's been on my mind," I said.

"Oh?"

"Have you always been Octophibic?" I asked. Ethan chuckled; I liked the sound of it, it somehow made the burden on my chest lighter and easier to breathe, despite it being at my expense.

"Ochlophobic," he said. "No, I haven't."

He fell silent after that, and I opened my eyes again to make sure that he was still there. He was, sitting quietly on the arm of the couch and staring down at me.

"Want to talk about it?" I asked.

"Only if you explain what happened to you today," he said.

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek for a moment, weighing my options. How bad was it to divulge my sad sappy story to Ethan? Not particularly terrible. I supposed that my biggest fear was that it would make him think less of me, and the concept of that was anathema to me. I didn't want him thinking badly of me in any way. In a weird, fucked up way Ethan was the closest friend I had, and that didn't say much considering how little we knew about each other.

"I had an addiction," I admitted. I could see the cautious expression upon his face, he wasn't exactly sure how to tactfully advance through the conversation.

"Drugs?" he asked. I laughed about as well as I could and rocked my head from side to side.

"Not exactly," I said. "ARI. Added Reality Interface, a network of tools and data that overlaps its dimension onto ours. It's one of big brother's dirty secrets, experimental technology. It's incredibly efficient and useful, but it comes hand in hand with a few negative side effects."

"Side effects?" Ethan asked.

"There were fifty of us selected to be guinea pigs, based on our psych profiles. Fifty of us who were supposed to be able to handle using it. The problem is that the ARI gets inside of your head. It's an electronic pulse based technology, sending signals into your brain when you wear a pair of special glasses and altering your reality. For some it's not problem. But for most of us it didn't leave our minds, even after we stopped using. It's almost like the network laid its eggs inside of our heads until it didn't need to use the glasses anymore.

"You start hallucinating, seeing things and people that aren't there. Due to this invasion of cerebral function, your body tricks itself into thinking that some virus has taken over the brain and it begins to act out against itself in confusion; bleeding from the eyes, the nose, sometimes internally. You can't trust reality anymore. You can't trust yourself anymore. Some can cope, and some good agents that I'd worked with took their lives to escape it."

"The FBI knew about these side effects?" Ethan asked. I nodded and shrugged. "And they still put you through the experiments?"

"There was a drug that counter-balanced the ARI called Triptocaine. As long as we didn't overdose on the drug it would help keep the ARI in check. But even Tripto has its price…" I felt my hands begin to shake at the very thought of Triptocaine, but I balled my fists and kept them still until the tremors went away. "Anyway I'm off of both and I'm dealing with the side effects well enough. Your turn; I confide in you, you confide in me."

"Well there's not much to say for me, really," Ethan said. "How much do you know about me?"

"You were married, had two sons, one died while you fell into a six-month coma and awoke with psychological trauma including inconsistent blackouts," I said. He looked down at me, surprised. "I studied you, remember?"

"Right, I was the prime suspect," he chuckled sourly. "The day I lost my son Jason, a part of me died. I'd failed as a father. I'd failed him. I was supposed to be his hero, his protector, and I couldn't save him.

"When I walk into a public place… It's like I'm trying to find him all over again. I can't breathe, I can't think, I just keep trying to find a red balloon bouncing above the crowd." Ethan still hadn't forgiven himself; I could see it in his eyes as the caring life inside of him receded back into the abyss of his mind. It looked like guilt had as much a grip on him as it did me.

"Anyway," he changed the subject and his eyes darted back down to my face. "You should rest here, at least for the night if not longer. The EMT's told me that you'd need to be supervised in case something like this happened again."

"I'll need clothes," I protested.

"I can ask Madison to stop by your motel when she gets here," he said. He must have noticed the grimace I was trying to suppress because he quickly added: "Or I can go there myself, if there's something personal that you don't want her to see…"

"It's fine," I said. It didn't matter if it was Madison or Ethan, apparently it was going to happen regardless.

"I'll go call her to let her know," he said.

"A tape," I said. "There's a tape on the bed, make sure that she grabs it."

"Sure thing." He smiled and stood up, but hesitated for a moment. "These side effects of yours… How long until they go away?"

"It depends," I said warily. I had to side-step this answer so that he wouldn't worry about it too much and ask too many more questions. I didn't want to lie to him, but there were some things that I didn't want him to know, including the reason behind my removal from the ARI project. "For some it clears up anywhere between one and three years. Then they're as good as normal, as if everything was just a dream."

"And the others?" He asked. This was one of those questions I was hoping he wouldn't ask.

"For those who weren't lucky enough to have the side effects disappear after three years, they'll never go away. Hence the ones who end up kissing the wrong end of a shotgun." I saw Ethan's face grow dim.

"And where do you lie?" He asked.

I closed my eyes; I'd already told him this much, I may as well tell him the rest.

"My evaluation said that I wasn't likely to be one of the lucky ones," I admitted. Ethan nodded slightly, and then he vanished from my sight.

Wasn't _likely_ to be one of the lucky ones. I laughed. Dr. Lang told me very flatly that I'd gone far too deep into the rabbit hole. The damage had already been done when I pushed myself into a psychological break. I was never going to recover from the ARI's fucking control over me.

I had a little girl's face to remind me of that for the rest of my life.

I woke up groggy the next morning because I'd slept way too much, but still felt well enough to get up, take a well-needed piss, and go for a walk around the neighborhood.

This end of town was a little nicer, even if only slightly. The people were friendly enough, smiling as they jogged or walked by with their dogs. I felt a little nauseous but I attributed that to having not eaten anything but a bite from a revolting cheeseburger in almost two days.

When I walked through the front door of Ethan's home, I was greeted by the smell of food and Madison's warm smile.

"Good morning," she said.

"My head's spinning," I said.

"Don't worry, I've got just the remedy," she said. "How do you take your eggs?"

"Over medium," I said. Just as I was wondering if there was something to drink in this house, she was there with a glass of orange juice all ready for me to go.

"Well, I only know scrambled so you'll have to bear with me," she said. Then why ask, I thought.

"Ethan home?"

"No, he's driving Shaun to his mother's house and then he said he has some errands to run." I wondered what I was going to do all day while he was out. She dished out a plate of scrambled eggs faster than I thought humanly possible.

"Thanks," I said. She winked and went back to the stove.

She sat down and ate across from me, though neither of us had anything to say. That is, I had nothing to say and she looked as though she was tossing something over in her mind.

"Mr. Jayden, why are you really in town?" She asked. "I mean, no one comes to a place like this to vacation in the cold and rain."

I kept eating, hoping that my silence would end the questions. I didn't care how juvenile that solution was, it was better than telling her the truth; _I just came back because I might have a set crush on the father of the boy I saved, who's been married and probably has no attraction whatsoever to men_.

Yeah, classy. It's not like I intended to step in and change their lives, he had a son to raise and I didn't want anything awkward to go down. I just wanted to see how they were doing, that's all.

"It's the Barbershop Killer, isn't it?" I looked up at Madison and simply kept chewing. She was still staring at me expectantly as I swallowed, so I opened my mouth and took another bite. "Fine, you don't have to tell me; I know that's what brought you here. It's too big a coincidence, you being here as the murders begin to happen more frequently."

"Madison, I'm honestly not here for the Barbershop Killer." She looked a bit let down. She was probably hoping for some leads or inside details of the case that she could cover in her next big article.

"Oh," she said. "I just assumed that… I'm sorry."

"Don't mention it," I said.

"Not that I blame you – I mean, after the Origami Killer I don't know why anyone would want to put themselves in a mess like that again. I can't even comprehend how cops can do it for so many decades before they retire," Madison said.

"Well it's not about _wanting_ to do it, we have to. It's our job to keep everyone safe from those creeps. It's why I'm an agent." I realized my mistake, the slip of the tongue. An old habit to shake, the title. "_Was_ an agent."

"Was?"

"I'm no longer on the FBI. I'm retired," I said. With honors, at least, though that didn't do me much fucking good, now, did it?

"Don't you think you're a little young to retire? Or do you just look exceptionally young for your age?" She smirked and I had to smile with her.

Despite my distaste for reporters and journalists, I had to admit, there was something about Madison that could light up a room and make anyone smile.

I spent most of my afternoon laying on the couch while staring at the TV. I held the tape on my stomach, turning it over and over in my hands, wondering what was on it. More importantly, who would put my name on it and leave it for me at the motel.

I was like an eager dog to hear the door unlock. Ethan walked in with an armful of groceries.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" He asked as he walked by.

"Better," I said. "I wanted to ask, do you happen to have a VCR somewhere around this camp?"

"Are you kidding?" He asked with a wry grin.

"I know, you don't have to tell me," I said. "Know where any pawn shops are?" I didn't want to shell out some cash for a damn VCR, but if I wanted to know what was on this stupid tape I was going to have to. It was silly, this obsession with it – it was probably just something dumb, or porn.

"Yeah, there's one not far from here, near the elementary school. I can drive you there if you'd like," Ethan said.

"I'd appreciate it," I said. I watched him stock the refrigerator and cupboards, but only in stolen glances. I didn't want him to feel like I was staring at him.

The VCR's at the shop weren't too pricey, I supposed, but still more than anyone should pay for a hunk of outdated junk. $10 just to watch one lousy tape. Guess it wasn't any different than shelling out that much cash at a theater.

Ethan helped me hook it up to the TV in the living room. It powered on just fine, now I just had to pop in the cassette.

"Do you want privacy?" He asked. I smirked a bit at the question; here I was in his house yet still he offered privacy.

"Stay if you want, it's nothing personal to me. It's probably just a joke, a prank left by motel management," I said. It was my running theory; they would know my name and room number.

I pressed the tape in and pushed play.

And immediately wanted to press stop.

Horrified screams filled the room as a young woman rocked back and forth on screen, crying bloody murder as someone pumped away between her legs. It was porn, all right, but nothing erotic about it.

"If this is a joke, it isn't funny," Ethan said.

The camera angles shifted as the person holding the camera kept walking around the table. The guy raping the blonde girl kept calling her every degrading name in the book. Slut. Whore. Bitch. Cunt. He slapped her face around as she cried helplessly, unable to do anything about it with her hangs bound above her head.

Then he slipped the razor from out of his pocket, a straight razor. She begged him not to hurt her, but he slid the blade along her breast, down her navel. He made a shallow slice on the inside of one of her thighs and she screams in a way I'd never heard anyone scream before.

He punched her in the face. He was a monster, an incarnation of rage. He punched her face a couple more times until her eyes lulled in her head, delirious from the impacts.

He went rigid, groaning and growling as he came. When he pulled out and pulled up his pants, he didn't seem to be done with her yet. He positioned the razor between her legs, and she went pale and stiff when she came to again and saw what he was about to do.

She begged and pleaded; "No no no no no! Desmond, no!"

He screamed at her, and she screamed for help.

The tape ended.

Neither Ethan nor myself could truly believe what the hell we'd just seen.

"What the fuck was that?" I asked myself.

"Allison Harper." Neither of us had noticed Madison standing in the doorway of the hall until she'd said the name.

"You know that woman?" I asked.

"Only from the news," she said. "The Barbershop Killer's first victim. Allison Harper."

"Then what we just watched…" Ethan grew pale and looked as though he was about to vomit. He was just as sickened as I was.

"We just watched the murder of his first victim – we have it caught on tape." The notion shook me. Someone had to have been watching me to know where I was, _who_ I was; who sent me the tape?

Why me?


	4. Chapter 3: Hunter

3. Hunter

Damn.

I didn't want to get involved in another case like this.

Damn. Damn, damn, damn it all to hell.

But I couldn't just mind my own business and live an everyday life knowing that this was going on in my city; I didn't know how anyone could. How did one get use to ignoring these things?

Damn.

Allison Harper, deceased. The first victim of the Barbershop Killer; raped, beaten, and strangled while bleeding to death. Her face on that tape… I couldn't imagine the horror she'd gone through while he sliced her up from woman to eunuch to corpse. The guy was a monster.

Denise Marie Juneau, deceased. The second victim, gone missing one month after Allison Harper's body turned up, discovered three days later. Beaten and strangled while bleeding to death. The same method of mangle used on her reproductive organs; a straight razor.

Lauryn Whitaker, deceased. The third victim, body discovered two weeks after Denise's. Beaten, strangled, and mangled.

Jessica Greene, deceased. The latest victim. Beaten, strangled, and mangled.

There was no connection to be found between them. No criminal records, each was held high in esteem by colleagues and friends. Seemingly random choices. But if I know profile killers, and believe me when I say that I do, then these women weren't chosen by chance. Something connected them in some way, some similarity made them idyllic over any other woman their age.

And just what did they have to do with me?

A wave of dizziness hit me like a hammer to the head, and suddenly I found the room spinning. I gripped Ethan's work desk, staring down at the printed pages of the fact sheets of the victims, looking into their eyes as they stared back into mine.

A couple of them blinked, and I closed my eyes. It was just my mind playing tricks on me, it would go away with the nausea if I just took slow, calm breaths.

"Help us," I heard. Little voices whispered into my ear, and I could feel their tiny gusts of breath as they spoke to me. "Help us, Norman, you have to help us."

As crazy as it was, they were muffled when I placed my hands against my ears – like they were really standing on my shoulders and begging for help. I needed to get out of that room, I needed to go sit down with a glass of water and relax.

I needed to turn off my brain.

I stumbled down the stairs, with a steady grip on the banister as I did so, and slowly made my way into the living room. The white light from outside was blinding, too bright to see through squinted eyes. They danced in my vision and I tried to focus only on getting to the couch that had become my haven since I'd set foot in this place.

"Hey," Madison stepped out of the laundry room and looked me over. She was merely a blur to me, I couldn't open my eyes all the way to look upon her face. "You don't look so good."

"Water," I said. She vanished, her steps echoing into the kitchen. The faucet hissed, and then squeaked as I heard her return. She placed the cool, perspiring glass in my hand. Liquid beads sloppily dripped across my skin as I quickly brought the glass to my lips.

As soon as I felt the icy serpent coil its way down into my stomach I immediately began to feel better. My eyes adjusted to the light, and my vision returned to normal. My breathing was less erratic. The pounding in my head slowly faded out until it was just me and my thoughts.

"I'll be fine, thanks," I told Madison as I noticed her lingering. "Just needed some water in me, that's all."

"Sure," she said. She was a sharp girl, I knew that she wouldn't believe me, but I didn't care. "If you need anything else just let me know."

Before she could walk too far I gripped her wrist to stop her. She wiped her hair out of her eyes as she looked down into mine questioningly.

"Actually I have been meaning to ask you something," I said. I swallowed; I couldn't believe that I was actually asking this. "You're over here a lot, just about every day, it seems. Are you and Ethan… Intimately involved?"

"Are you kidding me?" She asked. "He has enough problems of his own without inviting mine into his life." She laughed and shook her head. I let go of her wrist as she leaned against the back of the couch, crossing her arms across her chest.

"We're just friends, that's all," she said. "After what happened we were a sort of support system for each other. I couldn't stand staying in the city alone anymore, so… I spend most of my time here during the day time and go home at night."

"Quite a commute, don't you think? I mean, why not just move?" I asked.

"There are some advantages to being in the heart of the city," Madison said. She pushed away and slowly strolled back to the doorway of the hall. "But sometimes, even in a crowd, I'm alone. So I come here."

"Sounds like you, Ethan, and Shaun have a good system going for you," I said.

"I don't know what I'd do without them, they're my friends. They're family." A small smile spread along her rosy lips and she disappeared into the hall, back to doing the laundry.

Friends. Family. I hadn't really had either in nearly a decade. Didn't really need them, not while on the constant move and working case by case.

It was a stupid move, printing out the fact sheets about those four dead girls and arranging them on Ethan's work desk like I was working the case. I never should have even researched it, I should have left it alone.

Dr. Lang's voice came back to me, not like the small voices of the girls pleading for me to save them, but a memory, old and dusty inside of my skull.

'You wanted to see me, sir?' I sat down at his desk and placed my hands in my lap.

'Yes, thank you for coming on such short notice, Agent Jayden.' He closed his office door and sat down. I knew the drill with department shrinks, I had to talk about my feelings on the trauma of what I'd done.

And honestly, it probably would have done me a world of good to disclose how I felt and work through this black sludgy pit I was trying to climb out of.

'Is this about Angela Benson?' I asked.

'Yes,' he said. Then he sighed heavily through his nose and brought his hands together on his desk. 'And no.'

'Then I'm sorry, but I don't understand why we're here,' I said.

'It's about ARB – your Added Reality Break.' I didn't like the look in his eyes.

'But I thought we'd made progress on that? It's been a year since I've stopped using the ARI and the side effects have become minimal.' I brought my ankle up to my knee, anticipating and calculating his tactics. Something about the tone in his voice brought out my defenses.

'Yes, minimal, but ever present. They're no longer going away, Agent Jayden. They've simply receded as far as they can, but linger just as much as before,' he said.

'Meaning?'

'Meaning that they will not go away,' he said.

'But you said that we could manage it,' I said. My voice was a little louder, a little edgier as panic spread through my veins.

'And we could, your psychological attacks were only once in a long while. That is until we changed the elements,' he said. I shrugged, waiting for him to go on. I tapped my shoe, anything to seem calm and collected on the inside, but I knew what was coming. 'We put you back on the field and that's when things spiraled out of our control.'

'I don't understand,' I said.

'It appears that the association of your critical thinking skills with criminal cases is now also associated with the lingering pulses of the ARI inside of your brain. Wave patterns show that when you are solving a case your mind goes back to using the ARI, stirring those pulses from the depths of your memory, and it sets on your attacks.'

'What are you trying to say here, Lang?' I said it loud, angrily; it couldn't be helped. I sat hopefully on the edge of my seat, but I knew the outcome of this conversation.

'Don't play dumb with me, Jayden – you know exactly what I'm saying. You were there, you lost control of reality, and now look at the blood on your hands.' I did look down at my hands, expecting to see innocent blood; instead I only saw my pale palms. 'For the safety of the delicate balance of your psyche, as well as the safety of others, you're being retired.'

'Retired?' And there it was, the inevitable end that I'd been anticipating.

'When you were in therapy you were fine, your condition was manageable, like you said. But once you were put back into the element of solving a case, the attacks resurfaced and became more and more frequent until…'

Until the fuck-up of my career – scratch that, the fuck-up of my life happened. And here we were.

'The more cases you work, the worse it gets.'

'So you let me go,' I said hotly.

'Retire you, there's a difference. You'll get all the benefits therein, pension, the damn nine. Honestly, Jayden, you should be happy,' he said.

That was the breaking point. I threw his precious little snow globe and almost flipped his desk over, but settled on slamming my fists down.

'Fuck you, fuck the FBI, and fuck the pension plan!' In hindsight I could have handled that better. He didn't say anything as I walked out of his office. No parting words, no condolences. He was just a messenger, apathetic as they could get.

The day the first check came I was so angry, so enraged. I felt used and betrayed. They'd crippled my mind and then threw me in the gutter, singing _bon voyage mon cheri_ with a skip in their step.

But in the end I cashed it. And the check after that, and the check after that. The hate I held for them couldn't compare to the disappointment in myself as I caved in and took their money.

I thought of the pages spread out upstairs on Ethan's desk. I didn't know what I thought I was doing in the first place, I knew that I shouldn't even think about working this case, I couldn't. I would be standing from a P.I.'s angle, and that only gave me limited rights, no more than any other citizen.

But most of all, I couldn't afford a major break in sanity like the last time. It had cost me my badge, my career, my life.

I swept the pages off of the desk upstairs and into the garbage bin beside it. I was going to take the tape outside and smash it, but I figured I'd let the rain do my work for me. I unplugged the VCR, tape still inside, and simply tossed the whole getup in the tin can outside at the curb.

Despite the fact that it was left to me for a reason, that it involved the brutal murder of Allison Harper, that wasn't my life any more. I was just a regular guy, like anyone else, and it didn't concern me.

That notion left a sour taste in my mouth, but I was going to have to accept that for what it was. And a part of moving on meant that I was going to have to leave this city, and soon.

But the moment that Ethan walked through the door, I couldn't imagine leaving. He looked so tired, so sad about something. He hadn't said much since last night, and I couldn't blame him. He didn't say much to Madison before she went home. Even I said more to her as we offered parting embraces and she walked out the door.

He stood over the kitchen sink, washing his dishes, and kept to himself. It was my own fault, I should have watched the tape by myself. It had really bothered him, and I understood completely.

"Ethan," I said.

"The house gets pretty quiet when Shaun stays with his mother for a while," he said. "But now that you're here, I might actually have something more to talk about than toys and cartoons."

"Actually, I was thinking that I should probably hit the road soon enough," I said. "I don't like overstaying my invitation, and never could settle in one place for too long."

"I see," he said. It wasn't much of a reaction.

"About the tape, I'm sorry," I said. I leaned against the refrigerator, trying to see his face as he mindlessly rinsed off the plates. He wasn't even paying attention to them anymore; he was staring into the backyard. "I shouldn't have exposed you to that kind of… filth."

"Don't worry about it," he said. Despite his permission to forget, it didn't stop me from worrying.

"You don't have to worry about it, I threw it away," I said. That seemed to garner his attention. He cut the water and looked at me questioningly.

"You what?" He asked.

"I threw the VCR and the tape out into the garbage can," I explained.

"Why would you do that? You should have given it to the police!" Ethan said. "It was evidence, Norman – you can't just throw away that tape!"

"Maybe I refuse to get dragged into an investigation that's not my problem!" Ethan was in my face and I faltered a bit.

"You can't just throw away that girl's life!" He said. "She's someone's daughter, she's a human being!"

"She's dead!"

Ethan backed away after that, and gripped the table for support. I slapped my hands against my cheeks and berated myself for saying that – I shouldn't have yelled at him.

"Ethan, I'm sorry, I…" He waved his hand and dismissed the apology.

"I know that it's not your problem. I don't know what I was thinking," he said. "I guess I had this silly notion that somehow we would find a clue in that tape and bring that psychopath to justice, like we did the Origami Killer."

"Don't you think that I would love to help find that sick fuck? So that no one else would have to bury another victim?" Ethan looked up into my eyes with his soulful blue ones and I couldn't even remember how to yell. "I'm sorry, Ethan, but I can't do it."

For more reasons than he knew. It'd be a huge risk for me, and probably the end of my sanity as I knew it if I did. I looked down into my hands, and they trembled, but for once it wasn't because of my damn condition. It was regret and anger that shook my bones; regretting the urge to help these poor girls, and angry that I couldn't.

I heard Ethan sobbing. I looked up to see him bent over the table.

"I just can't do this anymore," he said. I reached out and touched his shoulder, rubbed his back. I felt his body rock with convulsions as he cried. "My fears, Shaun's fears, knowing that this new killer is on the loose… I can't handle it anymore. It's wearing me down and draining me."

Ethan slumped into a chair and put his head in his hands. I stood by his side, staring down, unable to think of a damn word that sound like the right thing to say at the time. I just didn't have any advice, no words of comfort.

"I know how you feel, Ethan," I said. It was all I could say. It seemed to be enough; Ethan stopped sobbing and stared quietly at the table.

He seemed a little embarrassed after his breakdown, and tried to lighten the mood by throwing out a joke or two at his expense. But it didn't make me forget the face of his pain, his anguish. I wanted to help this man. And so I came up with an idea.

"Are you out of your mind?" Ethan asked. Some semblance of hostility had risen within him, surfacing as fear overtook his senses.

"Look, you want to help Shaun, right?" I asked. Ethan leaned his head to the side and meshed his lips together; he knew that he couldn't argue that. "How can you help your son if you can't face your own fears?"

"I can't," he said. He looked dead on, into the heart of the crowd. He tried to ignore face after face that passed him by, but his eyes would wander as strange looks came his way.

"Don't look at them, just stay focused," I said.

I thought that it might be cruel to bring him here, of all places. Yes, I wanted to walk him through a crowd, but the Mall, of all places… That was just low. Still, as guilty as I felt about it, I was determined to help get him started over this hurdle.

"This is a little teamwork exercise I learned from my training days," I told him. "I need your total trust in this, agreed?"

"Got it," he said with a shaky breath.

"No, not 'got it', it's deal or no deal; if you're not going to trust me one-hundred-percent on this then it's just going to be a waste of both our time, and we can just turn around and walk right back to the fuckin' car!"

"Agreed," he said dryly.

"Take deep, steady breaths." I took a few with him to show him; in through the nose, out through the mouth. "Now close your eyes."

He looked into mine, and for a moment I didn't want him to close those deep, thoughtful, caring eyes. But I urged him on, and he reluctantly closed them.

"All right, this is how it's going to work; you're going to walk into this crowd with your eyes closed. I'm going to steer you by your shoulders." Ethan's body tensed when I put my hands on either side of his shoulders.

"I can't do this!" His voice was strained, stressed, and he was scared to his core. I understood the feeling. But he had to work through this, and this had been the best solution I could think of.

"Yes you can, Ethan, I'm going to be right behind you the entire time. Trust me," I said. I needed his total trust, it was essential. And even though I still wouldn't have it completely during this first trial, I needed him to grow to learn that he could depend on me so that these sessions would be easier on him until he could face his fears on his own.

"I do trust you," he said, calmly. At least that reassured me, I could tell that he was easing into the idea. "But I just don't feel ready… You holding me by my shoulders makes me feel boxed in."

"All right, I won't hold you by your shoulders." I took my hands from his shoulders and placed them on the sides of his ribs. "Better?"

"Not really," he said with a slight nervous chuckle.

"Now walk," I said into his ear. His body grew tense again, stiff as a board, and I rubbed his sides to calm him down. "You can do this, I know you can. I've seen what you're capable of – this is nothing compared to you. Don't let this beat you down."

He took another deep breath and took a step forward. And then another, and another.

All we had to do was make it to the escalators – thirty steps ahead, it should be easy. People offered strange looks, but steered clear as they wondered what we were up to. But they weren't my concern, Ethan was, and so far he was impressing the hell out of me. Ten paces in and he was still relatively calm.

And then some careless asshole bumped into him. Ethan screamed, and his body froze. His breathing was inconsistent and harsh; for every one of mine, he would take in three hysterical breathes combined with slight whimpers.

"I can't… I need to get out of here, I can't…" He stammered. His legs gave out from under him but I wrapped my arms around his body and held him up. He was a lot heavier than I thought he would be – or maybe I was just a lot more out of shape than I'd realized. I held him close, his chest breathing in and out of my embrace. I could feel his heart pounding against his chest. "I can't breathe."

"Yes you can, Ethan, you're breathing now," I said. "I've got you, you're safe. And we're going to make it through to the other side."

I held him against me, and as much as I tried to stay focused on getting him from point A to B, a part of me, the larger part of me, couldn't help but think about the way it felt to hold him like that, pressed against his back as I held him to my chest, and protecting him. It was a semi-ego boost, to know that he was counting on me, but I threw that aside and nudged his left leg forward with my left leg. He took a step. Then I nudged his right with my right and he took another step.

I continued that pattern until we got a rhythm going, and suddenly he was walking on his own. We were officially together in this; his steps were my steps, and my movements were his.

"Ethan, I want you to open your eyes," I whispered into his ear.

Slowly, his lids fluttered open until he saw the escalator before him. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then a slightly frantic but joyful laugh escaped. I reluctantly let go of him as he lunged forward, stepping onto the escalator and gripping the sides. He relaxed, the further he ascended above the crowd until we were both on the top level, where only a few people passed by here and there.

He plopped down on a bench near gumball machines and his body went limp from exhaustion.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

"My chest hurts," he said as he drew in deep breaths to steady his nerves.

"A panic attack will do that to you," I smirked. "But you did it."

"Thanks in no small part to you," he said. He opened his eyes and looked up at me with some form of impressed smile on his lips. "Where did you learn to coach like that?"

"Some of it you learn, some of it improvise," I told him. I sat down next to him and leaned back, staring into those eyes of his. There was something incredibly mesmerizing about them, something to do with their genuineness reached into me. "It's all about catering to the needs of the person you're trying to help."

Ethan's smile, his very light, was doused by some distant thought or memory, and he leaned forward with a heavy frown on his face.

"It was only a small victory," he said. "I won this battle with your help, but there's no way I can win the war alone. I'm in to better condition now than I was when we walked into this place."

"Well it doesn't happen overnight," I said. "We're going to keep at it until you're ready to handle it on your own."

"Why are you doing this?" Ethan asked. "Why are you here?"

The first answer that popped into my head: _Because I love who you are as a person, honest, loyal, giving, and compassionate._

What I said: "I consider it a mitzvah to help those in need."

"Oh," he said. I thought he would be disappointed – it was a disappointing answer to me, anyway. It wasn't really what I wanted to say. But instead a playful grin appeared with a wry glint in his eyes. "So I'm just a good deed to you, huh?"

"Yeah, something like that." We laughed. It wasn't even all that funny, but I was glad that he'd lightened up a little.

On the way home we stopped for a couple of burgers – _real_ burgers, mind you, none of that diner junk. I hadn't actually seen him this lighthearted and happy before. I guessed that he'd decided to take his small victory and wear it proudly.

But things didn't stay light and happy for long.

"Police received a frantic distress call from Deveraux as she screamed that the killer was coming for her. The call was cut short and a car was dispatched to her apartment. Deveraux was nowhere to be found, and her whereabouts are still unknown. Lieutenant Carter Blake refused to comment on whether or not the killer in question is the Barbershop Killer, but another lieutenant on the force, who wished to keep his name anonymous, made the comment that the department is to assume working the case as though confirmed."

We sat on the couch in the living room, silent and still. Ethan watched with pity, sad to know that another girl may have already been taken so soon. I, on the other hand, kept racing around and around my mind by the face on the screen.

Deveraux. Monica Deveraux. A cheerful young waitress with a smile like sunshine. It was too close to be a coincidence – I knew that she'd been singled out for some reason that involved me. Someone really had been watching.

Maybe they still were.

_Fuck, Jayden, how could you have been so damn stupid!_ I'd suspected being watched before, but I didn't think about the danger I might have put Ethan, Shaun, even Madison into.

When I looked over at Ethan again, he'd been looking at me this time. There was something in his eyes, something that spoke volumes as long as the Gettysburg Address, but it was in a language that I just couldn't seem to understand.

It was almost as if he just knew, without having been inside of my head, that I'd made up my mind, and yet the idea hadn't even come to me yet.

"You're going to work the case," he said.

"Looks that way," I said. It also looked like my mind had already decided this without my knowledge. But I couldn't just walk away now, not with the risk of leaving now and seeing a news headline of 'Father and son slaughtered in home by Barbershop Killer.' Not to mention the wave of anger that washed over me when I saw Blake's ugly mug on the screen and knew that he'd been placed in charge of this case.

"Does that mean you'll be staying here after all?" He asked.

"If the offer still stands," I said. He smiled and nodded.

"Thank you," he said. I didn't bother asking why it was so important to him that I catch this killer, or what he might have had at stake in all of this. I just nodded to his thanks and got up from the couch.

I walked up the stairs and into Ethan's office, rummaging through the garbage bin and digging out the pages I'd tossed. I pulled and flattened them out, salvaging them from their grave.

I wasn't going to leave them crumpled in the garbage like the FBI did to me. I wasn't going to give up on these girls. They deserved that much. Someone who cared, not someone like Carter Blake.

I looked down at my trembling hand and knew the risks of what I was going to do to myself by trying to catch this son of a bitch, but the good that could potentially rise from that far outweighed the consequences.

I balled my fist to stop the jitters and began trying to establish a connection between all of these girls.


	5. Chapter 4: Rivalry

4. RIVALRY

The neighborhood wasn't much to look at, but on a waitress' salary with few tips to be earned I didn't really expect Monica to live anywhere lavish. The address on the back of the receipt was a short, four-apartment building. It looked like a crack house, and boy, had I seen plenty of those in my day.

A single street lamp lit the front of the building, slick brown brick and mortar drenched by rain waiter. Lights lit up three of the four large windows on the front of the building. The dark apartment must be Monica's.

The crime scene investigators had left a while ago, but I wanted to watch a little longer to make sure no one else was going to surprise me up there.

"You wait here," I told Ethan. He didn't argue, he just nodded. I stepped out of the car and shut the door behind me, wondering if it was a good idea to let him come along when he'd asked me to. On one hand, if I was being followed then my stalker would know that he was with me. But if I'd left him alone in his house…

Yeah, it was probably for the best to keep him with me. Ethan wasn't exactly helpless, but I'd still be able to work much easier with him nearby.

I opened the front door and stepped inside the brightly lit foyer, checking around the apartments. A door to my left, one to my right, a set of stairs ahead of me and two doors above. I checked the mailboxes to my right. Monica Deveraux, Apt #3.

I contemplated asking if anyone had seen or heard anything suspicious, but I didn't want to draw too much attention to myself. Strictly speaking I didn't exactly have permission to go what I was about to do.

I ascended the stairs, glancing around for any traces left behind. When I reached the second floor, I knelt before Monica's door and ignored the yellow crime scene tape wrapped around it. I opened the box to my lock pick kit and fingered through the tools until I found the torsion wrench and the snake rake.

Lucky guess, the lock popped not a minute later. I was impressed, and I won't lie, my ego did swell a little.

"Is lock picking something that they teach everyone in the FBI?"

I nearly had a heart attack; I wasn't expecting anyone to be standing there behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. Ethan stood there, arms wrapped around each other and shivering a little.

"Is stealth sneaking something that all architects know?" I asked. He smiled as I put my tools away and shoved them into one of the deep pockets of my pea coat. "Didn't I tell you to wait in the car?"

Yeesh; I sounded like a nagging wife. I shook off the thought with a chill.

Ethan frowned. "I didn't want to be stuck in the car while you got to come up and play detective. I want to help."

"I know you do, and you will, but I can't risk you leaving any evidence behind and linking you to this." He didn't seem to agree with my precautions. "Look, it's like this; I know how these procedures are carried out and there are certain steps you take to make sure that you don't tamper with the evidence at a scene."

"Then teach me," Ethan said. "I'm a fast learner, and I'm a meticulous guy."

"I, er…" Ah boy, he was really going to make me say this. "Ethan, I don't want you getting hurt in case something happens. I care about you."

"Care, eh?" He asked with a surprisingly playful smirk beneath his warm eyes.

"Ha ha ha – don't get any ideas, funny guy." That's exactly what I wanted him to do. I was fully prepared to use the Shaun card against him, but he took a step closer and looked me in the eye.

"You needn't worry, I can take care of myself," he said. "Believe it or not, I'm not made of porcelain. And I've been in a fight or two."

I didn't like it, but he was right. And part of getting him to accept my trust was accepting his compromises. I surrendered and tossed my hands up. A boyish smile smeared across his lips like wildfire in excitement, and it just pounded my defenses ever further into the ground.

"Stay here and watch the front door. If you see anything, let me know."

"I want to do more than be a watch dog, Norman," Ethan whined.

"Ethan, I'm doing my best to work with you here; just meet me halfway." He wasn't too happy with that, but he leaned against the wall by the door and folded his arms, turning his gaze away and down the stairs.

I quietly opened the door and clicked on the mini-maglite on my keys. The news report stated that the neighbors could confirm that Monica Deveraux came home earlier today and that they hadn't heard anything strange. The apartment was clean, tidy, no messes here. I checked the frame of the door; no forced entry. The windows are way too high on the second floor to use to break in. If the killer came inside the apartment to snatch Monica, then he used the front door. Either he picked the lock, had a key, or…

She invited him inside.

I checked the mail on her coffee table, nothing unusual, just a few bills and fliers.

"Norman," Ethan leaned in the door.

"What is it, Ethan?" I sounded like an annoyed soccer mom. Something about him seemed to bring out that side of me sometimes, despite my best efforts to play it suave.

"There are red and blue lights outside – I can see shadows moving," he said.

Shit, I didn't think anyone would come back. Being a neighborhood rife with druggies and dealers, there was a slim chance that the cops weren't here for Monica's apartment, but those chances weren't likely.

When I peeked past Ethan I saw two pairs of legs walking toward the door. Out of sheer reflex I pulled him inside and shut the door as quickly and quietly as I could.

"What are we going to do?" Ethan asked. I glanced around the apartment, and spotted her bedroom. I hoped she had a closet. Otherwise we may be screwed here.

I took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom, closing the door just as I heard the knob twist and click in the living room.

"Damn it, Ash, tell Bobby to make sure that the boys lock up next time!"

Blake. I spotted the closet next to the bed and swung Ethan inside, closing the shutter door and pressing a finger against his lips.

"Try to keep as quiet as possible," I warned him. He bit his bottom lip and nodded.

The bedroom door opened. In waltzed Blake, arrogant as usual. Ash followed closely behind.

"The note was found on the bed?" Blake asked.

"Yes, sir, two words on the post-it: _Remember – Desmond_."

Blake placed one hand on his hip and rubbed his chin with the other.

"Desmond. That name have any fingerprints to go with it?" Blake asked.

"Won't know until tomorrow morning," Ash said.

"I'm gettin' real sick of this shit. This scumbag is getting on my nerves. Captain Perry's Mayoral campaign is starting to lose point because of this guy, and if he don't make mayor, I don't make captain."

It wasn't until Ethan took a deep breath that pressed his body completely against me, and pushed me into the opposite wall, that I realized just how small this closet was. His breathing was becoming a little shakier.

He wasn't claustrophobic as well, was he? Jeez, no guy has that many problems… right?

I put my thigh between his legs and shifted my hips away from his to try and other him more room to breathe. I leaned up and nearly pressed my face against his.

"You all right?" I whispered. I pulled away and caught his eyes. He swallowed, nodded quickly, and took deep, quiet breath.

I felt a little bad about shoving him in the closet – I could have put him under the bed, but that really wasn't much better.

"So we've got a name; Desmond. That's it?" Blake asked.

"That's about all I can tell you at this time, sir," Ash said. Blake punched the bed and stormed out of the room. Ash turned to follow, but hesitated when the closet door rattled ever slightly on its hinges. I looked down; Ethan's leg had bumped it. Ash had clearly heard it; he was staring at the door now, edging closer. I could see his suspicious eyes turn to slits.

His hand slowly went to the holster attached to his belt.

Shit, shit, shit!

I looked up at Ethan, wide eyed and sorry. I could see the apology in his face, and I felt his pulse quicken against my chest.

_Just stay calm, Ethan,_ I wanted to tell him.

Ash reached for the door, but paused as he took a quick sniff of the air. Something in his brain clicked, and he lowered his hand, giving one last look at the closet door and then walking out the door. I heard Blake's tirade in the living room as he complained about his department's lack of competence.

I didn't want to know what would happen should Carter Blake become Captain. Those poor schmucks.

"I have to get out of here," Ethan said.

"We can't leave until they leave," I told him.

"Norman, I have to get out of here – I-I can't handle small spaces," he said.

I reached up and grabbed his face, keeping his eyes on mine.

"Breathe," I said. He did so, and exhaled. I nodded encouragingly and urged him on, breathing with him. "Just listen to my voice, and breathe. In, out, and over again."

Ethan closed his eyes, fighting back distress, and breathed.

"Listen to my voice," I repeated. "I'm here, nothing's going to happen to you. I won't let enethin' happen to you."

His breathing evened out, his heart rate slowed down. And I was just as relieved to see that he was handling the stress. This guy was way too prone to anxiety attacks. Considering his experiences, I could understand.

"How do you feel?" I asked. He opened his eyes and stared back down at me.

"Better," he stammered.

"Good, and you're going to relax and be even calmer the more you breathe and concentrate on something good," I said.

He turned away and grimaced, staring out the door. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" I asked.

"For getting in your way… For thinking I could help… For making you babysit me every time I panic," he said. "I don't know what I was thinking… I can't help you, I'm helpless myself. I'm not brave. I'm like a fucking child afraid of the dark who needs his hand held. I'm damaged goods."

"But goods nonetheless," I said. "You need your hand held?" I reached down and slipped his fingers into mine. "Then I'll hold it."

Ethan chuckled a bit, grateful for my humor. "I'll tell you a secret." He looked down at me expectantly and waited. "I'm not fearless, not at all. I can't bring myself to put on a pair of sunglasses for fear of going into remission. I can't walk down long hallways, it freaks me out – been that way ever since I was a kid. I think it was The Shining that did it. I still sleep with a night light because when I'm in total darkness I get that feeling that there's something or someone under my bed or in my closet and I can't sleep. I've never asked anyone out on a date before; I get too nervous, my palms get sweaty, and I chicken out.

"Bravery isn't being fearless, Ethan, it's doing what needs to be done in spite of fear. You're one of the bravest men I've ever known. What you did to save your son was more than most fathers would do for theirs. And you're not a burden on me – in fact, you've been babysitting me more than I've been watching you."

He smiled I gave his hand a tight squeeze. "We're in this together, and we will stop this guy before he kills again. We're a team now, partner."

"I've never really been on a team before," he said.

"What, no baseball?" I asked.

"Never really played. I was more the artistic type of kid," he said.

"Ah, you were a snub-nosed little snob," I said. He chuckled.

"Yeah, a little," he admitted. "You were probably the proud, bigheaded jock, right?"

"Maybe a little bigheaded," I said.

We heard a few lingering footsteps and then the click of the door. The footsteps pounded down the stairs, and the apartment fell silent. He glanced out of the slats on the closet door and I listened with him.

"Looks like they're finally gone," I said. I opened the closet door and allowed Ethan to step out first. He drew in a few lungful-of-airs and stretched out his body.

"Looks like they've already swept the apartment clean and what little evidence there was is logged in at the station," I said. "I don't know what we've got to go on now, we're going to have to go back to square one."

"Or," Ethan said as he sat on the bed and looked up at me from a cocked angle. "You can sneak inside the station and look at the evidence for yourself."

"Oh, sure – I'll just walk right inside and say 'Hey! Remember me, Blake? You pulled a gun on me after I knocked your jaw lose. Nah, I'm no longer with the FBI, apparently I'm too crazy to serve the people. Say, I was wondering if you'd let me look at the evidence you collected from Monica Deveraux's apartment?' Forgeth it, Ethan, there's no way I can get inside without being recognized."

"Man, you can throw a long rant when you want to," Ethan said.

"I'm sorry, I'm just brainstorming," I said.

"You won't be recognized," Ethan said. "I've still got something you gave me a couple of years ago."

Ethan pulled a shoebox out of his bedroom closet and quickly tore the lid right off the top. Of course, I thought; the Police poncho.

"You know, I'm starting to think that maybe you were right about having your merits on this case," I said.

"And I'm starting to think that you were downplaying your response a bit when you said that you were a _little_ bigheaded," he said. "When do we go in?"

"We? Oh, no, I'm doing this one alone." I snatched up the poncho and draped it over my arm.

"What about Blake? We'll recognize you from a mile away. He's got it in for you," Ethan said. "Let me distract Blake for you. I'll tell him… I'll tell him that the tape had been sent to me instead."

"Considering your connection with the Origami Killer that is not in your best interests," I warned him. "Blake'll make you his prime suspect and will try and pin it all on you."

"Well then I'll tell him that I found it in the VCR that you bought in the pawn shop and it got water-damaged on the way home," Ethan said. I wanted to shoot down his idea. The only problem was that it wasn't exactly a bad one. But I couldn't risk it.

"You'd be getting yourself deeply involved in this," I said.

"It wouldn't the first time," he said.

"But if Blake has someone dogtail you around then he'll know about me, and then we won't be able to go wherever we please without being tracked on their radar." Ethan sat on his bed and sighed. "I appreciate you being so eager to help bring this killer down, but some things you're just going to have to leave to me."

He wasn't happy with me. Great. Rough seas ahead on this partnership, I thought. But at least he was perceptive enough to understand where I was coming from.

"I'm going to go and call Shaun, see how he's liking his week at his mother's," Ethan said dully. He walked silently by.

"Oh, one more thing," I called to him just before his head vanished below the wall surrounding the stairway. "Will you keep all of this mum to Madison? I know that she's a close friend, and she does mean well, but I don't want any more people involved than is necessary."

Not to mention she was still, first and foremost, a journalist. I read _Heavy Rain_ when it was released. She was really trying to intensify the drama on that one. I didn't want to pop up in a sequel, written across as a wannabe-vigilante.

"Got it," he said flatly.

2 p.m. Lunch hour. This was the best time to march through to the evidence room. Half of the force would be on a doughnut run, the other half would be in separate meetings. Still, there were a lot more people manning their desks in the main office than I'd expected for this time of day. Among them, Blake, still sitting at the same desk he'd had two years ago. I was betting he was practically salivating for that promotion right about now, and the nice, spacey office to go with it. But in order for that to happen he would have to crack this Barbershop Killer Case first.

I started walking, hoping to avoid Blake completely by walking down the aisles behind him.

"Hey, you!" I froze. I should have kept walking, played it off. But I felt the hand on my shoulder and icicles froze my stomach over. I turned and looked at the guy who'd just stopped me. A robust fellow, buzzed blonde hair, about 30 lbs into his career. Yeah, he'd been behind a desk for a while.

"You heading to Captain Perry's office?" He asked. "If you are, could you drop this off for me? He needs it for the presentation, and I've got to run to get some grub before the hour's over."

"Yes sir, no problem," I said. "Uh – by the way, I'm new here. Can you point me to the evidence room? I'm supposed to log a few things into the network."

"Thought Carol handled all of that work?"

"I'm training to be her replacement, sir," I said.

"Ah, you're not a field guy? I assumed you were eager to be out there on the streets; you've got that look about you," he said.

"Evidence, sir?" I urged.

"Oh, right – just cut through the conference room, the door to the hallway's on the other end." He smiled and handed me a folder. I nodded my thanks and turned, heading back to the captain's office.

Got to love big city police departments. It's not like the rural stations where everyone knows everyone. Here, people were coming and going, transferring and switching all the time.

I didn't feel it necessary for me to see the captain face-to-face, so I sat the envelope on the chair beside his office door. As I turned around, I saw Blake sitting at his desk, only six feet from me. He was restless in his seat, distracted. Something had his teeth set on edge.

"Lieutenant," a young guy walked right up to Blake's desk, chipper as a fuckin' blue jay. "The presentation's about to start. You coming?"

"There won't be anything in that room that I don't already know," Blake said. "I don't have time to listen to a thirty minute stretch about a thirty second update. We've got a name, big deal. I've got real business to take care of."

"If anyone can catch the guy, it's you, sir," the kid said.

_Kissass_.

As soon as I took one step, Blake jumped up from his desk. Oh, he was pissed about something. Then again, in my experience, there really wasn't a time when Blake wasn't pissed off about one thing or another.

He ignored me completely and walked by, headed for the presentation room. Funny, he'd just ranted about the entire thing. I followed him. If I was safe anywhere it was standing right behind Blake.

He pushed through the guys standing in the doorway with an annoyed grunt. I slipped by and stuck to the wall as the lights were turned off and a projector was turned on.

Blake cut across the room to the door on the other side. Was he also headed for the evidence room? I wanted to follow him before Perry started the talk. I took one step and was snatched by my shoulder, pulled back out of the conference room and into the hall.

"Come with me." It was Lieutenant Ash.

"Actually, sir, I should really listen in on what Captain Perry has to s–"

"Cut the act, Jayden," he said. His French-Canadian accent tended to shine through a bit more when he was aggressive.

I was caught, and had no escape plan for this scenario. He silently led me into the voyeuristic half of the interrogation room. Same desk, same camera setup; nothing had changed here.

Ash locked the door and snatched the hood off of my head.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here, man?" He asked. "Breaking into the victim's apartment is one thing, but infiltrating the police station is too brazen, even for you!"

"You knew that I was in Monica Deveraux's apartment?" I asked.

"I noticed a car similar to yours outside of the building last night when I met up with Carter. I thought it was a coincidence, but once I smelled the Burberry I knew that it was you in that closet." I was impressed; he'd managed to remember quite a few things about me in two years. "What are you doing here? In this station, in this city?"

"I'm investigating the Barbershop Killer," I said.

"You're no longer in the FBI," Ash said.

"So you know about that?" I asked, trying to seem somewhat nonchalant.

"Everyone on the force who knew you know about that – Carter made sure to notify everyone once Captain Perry caught wind of it."

Ash sat down in the chair at the desk and stared at me as I leaned against the glass window.

"So what are you doing with me now? You going to arrest me?" I asked.

Ash leaned back in the seat, gauging me from the ground up. Something was on his mind, that much was clear. He was a very clear, and tactfully precise individual. He'd had a plan even before he snatched me up and dragged me across the office. I just hoped that this plan wasn't something that I should worry about.

"I let you go last night because I knew that somehow, some way, you would come to me," he said. "And here you stand as evidence."

"Your point?" I asked.

"I want your cooperation on the case," he said. "In turn I'm willing to divulge information that you would never be able to get otherwise."

"You want my help?" I asked incredulously.

"On the condition that you remember your limits. You are not a free agent anymore, Jayden, you can't just go where you please anymore," he said. "You're no good to me behind bars. If you are caught where you shouldn't be, I will deny any knowledge of this conversation or any hereafter."

"Black ops – understood, sir," I said.

"Good, glad to know that we get each other," he said.

"Actually you still haven't explained why you want my help," I said. "I thought you and Blake were like two pant legs sewn together at the ass; doesn't this count as going behind his back?"

"Carter is precisely why I want your help," Ash said. "I stumbled upon some most disturbing discoveries. Point in fact, Carter has become a megalomaniac since being heralded as a hero for breaking the Origami Killer case with you, and has become quite _ambitious_."

"So you're afraid that Blake has plans of his own?" I asked.

"Oh, no doubt, he has many, many plans for us all," he said. "If he breaks this case then he is sure to get that promotion."

"But if you break it, you're looking at captain," I said. He nodded with a shrug. "So why bring me into your political power-play?"

"You're the best chance I've got at breaking this case," Ash said. "Carter keeps me in the dark about his breakthroughs, and tries to cut me off at every corner. But I know what you can do, I know that you won't let him stop you."

"Thanks for the offer, Lieutenant, but I'm really not interested in playing your game," I said.

"But alas, you were already involved in the case; why not just utilize my resources?" He asked. "I not asking to get involved in any way that does not concern the Barbershop Killer. I swear it."

I had to take a moment to think it through. It seemed like the lucky chance of a lifetime. With Ash on my side I could crack this case a lot easier than with a citizen's resources. But that would also put my balls in his hands. He would have more control over me than I'd be comfortable with.

It all came down to three things; what I knew about Vincent Ash, whether I could trust him, and how badly I wanted to put this sick freak behind bars.

"I'll need to see evidence you've got in the lockers," I said. "That's where I was heading before you held me back."

"There's no point," Ash said. "Carter has already tampered with the evidence last night."

"He what?" I asked.

"What data he might have been able to draw from the materials is now inconclusive," he said. "I've been suspicious of his behavior for the last few weeks, so I followed him here last night. I watched him in the evidence room, smearing what prints we may have been able to gather, distorting handwriting… What we've gathered from Monica Deveraux's apartment is now useless."

"Do you think that Blake's the killer trying to cover up his tracks?" I asked. If Carter Blake wanted to gain that promotion by solving this case then tampering with evidence was the last thing that would help his case.

"At first I thought that as well, but if that were the case why would he want to solve the case on his own so badly? As much as it may seem as though he is covering up his tracks, I believe that solution is too simple," he said. I was skeptical, and he could see it in my face, but he didn't try and deter me any further than that.

"Sometimes the simplest solution is the correct one," I said.

"In any case, what I was able to gather before Carter made it impossible for anyone else to investigate the items was a name," Ash said.

"A complete name?" I asked.

"First and last, and most likely our killer," Ash said. He pulled out a receipt. "I visited with an office supplier yesterday after leaving the apartment the first time and checked credit card transactions over the last week to see if anyone had purchased any post-it notes identical to the one found on Monica's bed. And there was one name that had used a debit card to purchase the same notes that very morning.

The card is registered to an Indigo Bank account in the South End of town," Ash said. "The name is Desmond Casey."

"Desmond Casey? Did anything else come up for Mr. Casey?" I asked.

"Not for the last twenty years, his name seems to vanish with the exception of the bank account. No lease history, no utilities, no credit report, nothing."

"I'll get right on it. In the meantime there's a water-damaged VHS cassette that I'd like your lab technicians to restore and trace," I said.

"A VHS tape? Of what?" he asked.

"It depicts the last moments of Allison Harper's life as the Barbershop Killer has his way with her." Ash's eyes flared widely, and he leaned forward.

"How on earth did you come across that?" He asked. I let the question go for now, at least until I knew who sent it to me.

"Desmond Casey," I repeated, making sure that I had it memorized. I looked down at my watch – almost 2:30 p.m. "I'm going to be late."

"Let me walk you safely out of the building," he said.

"You'll only draw more attention to me, but thanks for the offer," I said. "Here's my number, let me know if you find out anything else about Desmond Casey, and I'll do the same."

"Thank you, Mr. Jayden," Ash said.

I flipped the hood on the poncho up and slipped out of the station relatively unseen. I wondered just what the hell Blake was trying to hide. I would have to follow him around soon enough, but right now I had some place to be and a promise to keep.

I walked through the parking lot and into the wide entrance, feeling a bit lighter once I saw those blue eyes.

"Sorry I'm late," I said. Ethan smiled a bit and shrugged it off.

"Honestly I was hoping that you wouldn't show," he said.

"Oh, no no no no no – I said we'd do this every day, and I intend to keep that promise," I said.

"To the escalators again?" He asked shakily as he eyed the crowd.

"Why change what works?"


	6. Chapter 5: Dragon

5. DRAGON

"So this guy's got a bank account?" Ethan asked. "That would mean that they should have records of his social security number, identification, right?"

"Let's just go in and ask some questions first," I said. When Ethan was excited about something he seemed to have that same energy as a kid in Disneyland.

He opened the door for me and I stepped inside, out of the rain. Ethan followed behind, snatching off the hood of the Police poncho. I figured it couldn't hurt to give him the look of authority if he was going to tag along. People were more cooperative when they thought they were dealing with a lawman.

Bank was fairly empty, save an old lady and a guy in shades and a beanie standing by the window, watching the rain. He wasn't technically in line so I walked right up to one of the tellers and rang the bell. A young blonde stepped up to the counter with a smile.

"What can I do for you today, sir?" She asked. I read her name tag; Becky.

"Becky, my name is Agent Norman Jayden, I'm with the FBI. This here is officer Mars. We'd like to ask you a few questions about a man who banks through Indigo," I said.

"Just one moment, let me go get my manager," she said.

Ethan was glancing around anxiously. I wondered what the deal was – it wasn't even crowded in here.

"How can I help you?" I looked around, the manager appeared at my side rather than behind the counter. Tall guy, late forties I presumed – bald, slender with a slight stomach, and an aquiline nose like a hawk.

"Norman Jayden, FBI. I'd like to ask you some questions about a man who frequents your bank," I said.

"May I see some form of identification?" He asked.

"Of course." I slipped my hand beneath my coat and slipped out my wallet. I flashed the badge, let him read it. Big blue letters; FBI. That always did the trick.

"Please, step into my office," he said. He turned and opened a door a few feet away. Ethan grabbed my shoulder and leaned in close.

"You still have your badge?" He asked.

"Ninety-nine cent store, found it in the kid's toy section. I pasted my picture on the square, signed the signature line and had it laminated at Kinko's." He smiled and laughed a bit.

"I'm going to step outside for a moment," he said. I shrugged and we went our separate ways.

I settled into the plush chair in the manager's office, glancing at the walls, made of tall glass windows. No privacy in here unless he pulled the blinds. Still, it allowed me to keep an eye on the lobby.

"What did you want to know, Mr. Jayden?" He asked.

"Your bank has a client by the name of Desmond Casey. I need to know if you have any camera footage of Mr. Casey, transaction records, and the like," I said.

"I can give you the transaction records, Mr. Jayden, but I'm afraid that video footage is out of the question," he said. "Our cameras are running for security surveillance, but they do not record unless one of the tellers presses a switch at the desk, should they suspect or are experiencing a robbery."

Great. That was going to help me out. I told him to print me a sheet of times and dates for Desmond Casey's account.

I glanced over my shoulder and through on e of the large windows at Ethan, standing by the front door. He was speaking to someone on the phone, laughing and smiling. I glanced over my shoulder and saw someone I hadn't been expecting. Mr. Evidence-Destroyer himself; Blake. Standing casually in line like nothing was wrong.

I stepped out of the manager's office and slowly approached him. I could feel my anger welling up inside of me; something about him brought out the worst in me. He was like my antigen, my body just reacted to him in a way that I didn't like.

I reigned myself in and kept it cool.

"Blake," I said. He glanced my way without much care, probably planning to brush whoever it was off of his shoulder. That is, until he recognized my face.

"Well, well, well, look who it is; _Nahman Jayd'n, Eff Bee Aye_," he snickered mockingly. I didn't sound that nasally: did I? "Oh, I'm sorry, EX-Bee Aye."

"What brings you to this neighborhood?" I asked.

"Is it illegal to come to the bank now, Jayden? Thirteen-thousand people use this bank, I'm entitled to be here," he said. "But if you _must_ know, I'm here on police business."

"Oh yeah? This wouldn't happen to involve the Barbershop Killer case, would it?"

"Barbershop Killer? Never heard of him," he said with a cocky smirk. I wanted to knock it off of his face.

"Oh, sure you have. He kidnaps these women, rapes them, beats and strangles them, and then takes a straight razor and violates their vaginal organs until the victim bleeds to death." Blake shrugged it off.

"Sounds like a pretty sick bastard," he said.

"Say, you wouldn't happen to be the killer, would you?" I asked teasingly. Blake copied my faux laugh. But the laugh didn't last long before he pulled his gun, the Silver 220, out of his holster and aimed it right at my face.

"If I was then I'd probably do something drastic to get you off of my trail," he said. I didn't like the grin on his face, or the sinister glare in his dark eyes. This was bold, even for a police lieutenant. I was hoping that the girl had clicked the camera button that the manager had mentioned.

"Lower the gun, Blake," I said. "How are you going to explain gunning down an unarmed man?"

"Supposing I had the Barbershop Killer in my sights, it wouldn't be too hard to clean up," he said.

"Me? The killer?" I clicked my tongue in tsk and put my hands on my hips. "What's your evidence?"

"How about a little tape you threw out? That's something you shouldn't leave in the garbage can where anyone can find it. It's got your prints all over it, and your friend Mars' print, too. Killer and the cameraman in one swift blow," Blake said. He couldn't have had the tape; Ethan had taken it out of the can and given it to me. Then I gave it to Ash.

Unless Blake had switched them out.

"As much as I'd love to shoot the killer first, the accomplice happens to be standing outside the door. I shoot you first, he runs." Blake shifted the gun from me and aimed out the glass door, where I could see Ethan's back turned to us, still on the phone.

I didn't think, I just reacted. I tackled Blake's midsection and ran him against the opposite wall. Even with his elbow repeatedly jabbing me in my back, I managed to slip his leg from underneath him and drop him to the ground. The gun slide away.

I scrambled for the gun, and he fought against me to make sure that I couldn't reach it. Then his knee met my ribs, and I curled into my body, involuntarily shielding myself when I should have been fighting for the gun. I grabbed his ankle as he struggled to his feet, but it was too late, he'd already had the gun.

He pulled the trigger, and it exploded, the sound echoed through the lobby like thunder. My flesh burned like a fireplace poker seared through my shoulder.

I yanked his leg and his slick shoes gave out easily. He hit the floor hard, smacking the back of his head against the marble. It that didn't give him a concussion, then I knew what would. I straddled his chest as he blearily lulled his eyes around, trying to focus. When he finally did, I grabbed the side of his head.

One swift jerk forward; forehead to the nose. He screamed as his nose broke, and a gurgle of blood poured down his face and into his mouth. Then I swung with my right hook, since my left shoulder was currently sitting in the corner for this fight. I swung again, and again, and again, until Blake was knocked out and covered in his own blood.

I sat back and stared down with gory satisfaction. I was pretty sure that I might have even been smiling. Then I heard a rattle from his throat and realized that he was probably going to drown in his own blood.

I flipped him onto his stomach so that the blood wouldn't pool in his mouth, and his breathing was just fine.

"Are you all right, sir?" The manager helped me to my feet, regretting the motion once he saw the blood on my hand.

"Just fine," I said.

"Thank you so much," Becky said. "I didn't know what I was going to do when he held me at gunpoint."

I could see myself in her eyes now; a glorified hero. I didn't know what it was; people weren't genuinely interested in me until I got into a major fight, and then suddenly I was friggin' Jesus.

Wait, gunpoint?

I looked down at Blake. No coat, no goatee. Just a guy in a beanie and sunglasses bleeding on the floor. Shit.

"Call the police, and make sure they know that someone's injured, they should bring an ambulance," I said.

"Sir," the manager said. I looked up at him, and he was pointing at my face. "Sir, you're bleeding."

My first reaction was to touch my face to see if it was my nose, or a tear duct, until I realized that I had the robber's blood on my hand. Not knowing what viruses he could have, I asked him to point me in the direction of the bathroom.

Soap, soap, soap, couldn't use enough of that. I worked my hands into a lather for thirty seconds, rinsed them under the faucet, and went right back for more soap. I looked at my face in the mirror as I lathered my hands. Left eye, both nostrils. At least they weren't gushing, manageable as long as I applied a little pressure.

I rinsed my face and held paper towels against my eye and up to my nose, leaning my head back. I didn't even care when I heard the bathroom door, I just sat on the counter and leaned back against the mirror. I didn't exactly feel like a champion right now.

"What happened?" Ethan's voice had the towel away from my eye faster than a chicken running from a deep fryer so I could look at him. "They said you fought off an armed robber."

"Well, I guess you know what happened. There aren't many other details to the story than that," I said. Except for my slight break in reality.

"You're bleeding," he said. Thanks, Captain Obvious, your powers of observation had won you another trophy. I mentally slapped myself; I shouldn't be angry with Ethan. "It's because of those side effects you'd mentioned, isn't it?"

"Something like that," I said.

I hopped off of the counter as Ethan tried to look my face over. "I'm all right."

"No, you're not. You need to go home and take it easy," he said.

"I have to stay until the police arrive," I told him. "I want you to walk to the diner where you picked me up and wait there. It's about seven blocks north of here. I'll meet up with you after I've got this whole thing sorted out."

"Are you going to be in any trouble?" Ethan asked.

"Not at all, I'll just be questioned about what happened, they'll write down some notes and information, and then they'll let me go."

Ethan was satisfied enough with that answer not to question it. He slipped out of the bathroom and left me to my ensuing headache, which meant that soon enough I wasn't going to be able to see very clearly out in the lobby where the bright daylight would blind and blur me.

Becky was nice enough to run and get me some coffee from the shop one block over. I appreciated the gesture, she probably felt indebted to me for keeping a bullet out of her body, but I felt a little uncomfortable with her hovering around so much.

"If you need anything else, Mr. Jayden, anything at all, feel free to let me know, she said. "And I do mean _anything_."

I was wondering if this bank had a policy on giving someone a dollar every time they said the word _anything_.

"Oh, look who it is, boys." I cringed at the sound of his voice. I'd already heard enough of it in my head today, but now he was really outside. Blake stepped out of the manager's office and strolled into the lobby as the EMT's tended the cuffed robber's wounds. I did feel a little bad for the guy, seeing what I'd done to him. Then again, he was robbing a bank; I was just doing my civic duty.

"What's it been, two years?" he asked. He pulled up one of the collapsible chairs near the desk at which I'd been sitting and faced me with that smug grin of his. "I remember you saying something about never coming back to this 'dump', as you put it."

"Turns out I've grown a little more attached to it than I thought," I said.

"Hmm… An ex-criminal profiler pops up in my town in the same week that I happen to find a huge break in the Barbershop Killer's case," he said, rubbing his neat little goatee as he mused the possibilities. "Now that doesn't like much of a coincidence, does it?"

"What can I say? Chasing criminals is a hobby of mine," I said. "Not that I plan on stepping on your toes – this is your investigation and I respect that."

Blake didn't respond very humorously to my apparent cooperation. I thought it was hilarious – he should know that I'd be anything but helpful to him.

"Good to see that you've learned your place," he said. "You'll find that life's much easier once you figure out whether you're the pin or the cushion."

"What's that mean?" I asked.

"It means that some people are meant to be the top dogs, and some are meant to serve or stay out of the way." He pinched my cheek, and it took every ounce of strength in me not to perform an encore of what I'd done to the robber for Blake.

"I've got an appointment soon, can we hurry this along?" I asked. "Don't get me wrong, I enjoy your company, but I really do need to get going."

"What were you going here?" Blake asked.

"Thirteen-thousand people use this bank, and since I was in town I figured I'd join the ranks," I said coolly. I wasn't exactly sure how accurate those numbers were, after all I'd only heard that from my hallucination. But considering a population of over 1.5 million people in this city I'm pretty sure that it was probably accurate, if not more than that.

"The cutie behind the counter seems to have a thing for you, Jayden," Blake said commendably as he eyed her long legs up from the floor to her skirt. "She said that you were heroic and brave when you fought the robber."

"Well, bravery is one of the three words in the FBI's motto." The other two being Fidelity and Integrity; not that Blake knew a damn thing about any one of those words.

"But the manager says that you were _enraged_, as he puts it. Savage is another word he used," Blake said. "Was there a reason you beat this guy's face to a pulp?"

"No reason in particular." Aside from the fact that I thought I was bashing _your_ face in, Lieutenant. "It just irks me when a guy pulls a gun on a lady."

"Lieutenant." One of Blake's men leaned over his shoulder, hand on his walkie. "Captain Perry wants to see you as soon as you're back at the station."

"Looks like we're done here, Jayden." Blake stood up and didn't waste another glance on me. He simply tossed a few parting words over his shoulder. "See you around, _Nahman_."

The guy was a horse's ass, and just as ugly as one to boot. But I had places to be, and people to talk to, most importantly Ethan.

I pulled out of the bank lot as quickly as I could. The sky had been a little clearer, still cloudy but the rain had stopped for the most part. The sky had grown darker as evening crept over the city. Now only the chill and wind remained. I pulled into the diner lot and cut the car. I saw Ethan sitting inside the diner, sipping on a mug and waiting for me. It had taken much longer than I'd hoped, especially since Blake had saved me for last when it came to the questioning process. But that had given the medics enough time to stitch up the flesh wound on my shoulder. I was lucky, the bullet had only grazed me.

As soon as I stepped inside the lit diner I caught his attention. His head perked up and he smiled a bit, and suddenly my shoulder didn't sting as much.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," I said as I sat in the booth. "I seem to be doing that a lot lately."

"It's part of the job," Ethan said with a shrug.

"Job?" I asked.

"Sidekick," he said with a smirk. "Oh – Shaun says hello, by the way."

"How is he?" I asked. I hadn't really gotten to see or interact with him since I'd been here. I wondered if the kid really remembered me much at all.

"He's good, he's having fun at Grace's house," Ethan said. "Did you get a chance to find out anything at the bank before the robbery?"

I reached into the inner breast pocket of my coat and slipped the tri-folded sheets into view, sliding them to Ethan. He snatched them up, glancing them over.

"Only two deposits a month?" He asked charily.

"Every other Thursday, deposits three-hundred," I said.

"So what does this mean?" He asked.

"Absolutely nothing," I said. It was a wasted trip, that bank wasn't going to help us find this guy any time soon.

"Any suspects?" Ethan asked.

"None that I can think of," I said. The place was pretty dead tonight. Usually when a business or one of its employees was involved in national news, customers increased. But Ethan and I were the only ones here tonight, aside from the old hunchbacked waitress and a cook in the back.

I looked up and saw Ethan staring at me. "What?"

"Just thinking," he said. He swirled his sugar spoon around the mug while he stared at me in a way that made me somewhat uncomfortable, nervous. He was scheming. I didn't like people scheming in my presence.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked, aiming to goad information out of him.

"I know what you said about not involving Madison, and I know that you meant it when you said it, but she can be a lot more useful than you think," Ethan said.

"And a distraction," I said. "I'm already worried about keeping you out of harm's way, I don't need to be keeping track of her as well."

"Is this about the book?" Ethan asked. That had caught me off guard. I hadn't quite expected him to bring that up on me.

"What book?" I asked, playing it cool.

"You know what book I'm talking about," he said. "Madison's book: _Heavy Rain_. You know, the one that's a New York Times Bestseller, and launched her face into the homes of the entire country."

"Oh, that book," I said. I waved it off. "That's got nothing to do with it."

"So you're not holding any grudges against her because of what she wrote about you?" he asked.

"Not at all," I said. "I don't even remember what she said."

"She called you a 'Sanctimonious Fox Mulder who would no sooner find his killer than the Holy Grail without his high-tech gadgets.' You're telling me that it didn't bother you?"

I tapped my finger in the table, trying to stay calm. But the perceptive look in Ethan's stare had me on edge.

"All right, maybe I am a little mad at her," I said. "She got one stinking interview with me after the case was settled and suddenly she knows me enough to profile me on paper? To hell with her!"

She liked to play all kind, and innocent – it bothered the hell out of me.

Ethan's laughter pulled me out of my inner tirade. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, funny guy."

"If it makes you feel any better, she summed me up as a naïve schoolboy who meant well but couldn't go the distance without help," Ethan said.

"No offense, Ethan, but… That's not too far off base," I said. He smiled and chuckled with me.

"Are you calling me naïve?" He asked.

"A little. I mean, emotionally speaking you're not much older than Shaun."

"Well do you know what I have to say about her outlines of us?" He asked. I jumped when he slapped his hand on the table; his left hand. I saw his fingers, all of them long, slender, artist's fingers, but the last one was noticeably shorter than the others, only two segments long.

"I did this on my own, and I found my son," he said.

I nodded, proudly, and took in the serious ferocity in his tranquil blue eyes. "Yes you did."

"And it was your bullet that put the Origami Killer down."

"Yes it was," I said. I smiled as I thought over his words, and he reflected that smile. "You are incredibly gifted."

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"No matter how deep I step in shit, you somehow know just what to say to make me smile again. He took the compliment without a word, and I was glad. He deserved it, and I'd meant it. He was like a drug. Maybe I was still an addict after all, and while craving the ARI I came back here to substitute the craving with Ethan. But even so, I wouldn't change what we had for anything in the world.

What did we have? A solid friendship, a trusting partnership, and one fucked up one-sided boyish crush from me to him.

Yeah, wouldn't change it.

"All right, you can get Madison involved if you want to," I said. Ethan's full, toothy smile lit up the diner more than the fluorescent lights above our heads. I rolled my eyes; I couldn't believe that I was caving like this. "But she's your responsibility. I still don't want anything to do with her. If she's working the story then she's working with you."

"I respect that," he said neutrally. I laughed.

"No you don't."

"True, I don't respect that," he said with a grin. "But it's your decision and I respect you."

Somehow that statement spoke to me, in a language I hadn't heard before yet somehow understood fluently. Ethan was my friend. Ethan trusted me. Ethan respected me. And hearing that out loud solidified the urge to get him through the fears in his life so that he could help Shaun through his, and be the father he wanted to be.

Letting him down was anathema; it simply was not an option.

So when I stood behind Ethan at the shopping center the next day, I'd gained a renewed sense of confidence that I could help this man. I wanted it just as bad as he'd wanted to help me on this case.

He closed his eyes, and stepped forward as I placed my hands on his sides.

"Ready?" I asked.

"I'm ready," he said.

We walked slowly, forward marching. Today, a few security guards had convened at the top of the escalators to watch and snicker. I ignored them and kept edging Ethan further into the crowd.

Halfway through some kids were rushing by and brushed by me. Their mother, on the other hand, ran right into Ethan.

"I'm so sorry, I'm just – kids, you know," she said as the rushed off after them.

I'd expected Ethan to yelp or start hyperventilating. His breathing hitched, but he remained calm, cool, collected, and kept on walking.

"You're almost there," I told him. "Just keep walking, a little further."

I stopped him, and he opened his eyes. I felt his body relax, and he exhaled with relief. When he turned to face me he was beaming. To my great surprise he threw his arms around me.

"It was different this time," he said. "I almost felt like… Walking to the refrigerator!"

"Er… Is that good?" I asked awkwardly.

"Good?" He pulled away and held me by my shoulders as we stepped onto the escalator. "Good? It's normal! I haven't felt normal in a crowd in almost half a decade!"

"That's good – that's progress," I said.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "Thank you."

"Hey." Those three snickering guards at the top of the stairs were giggling like school girls. I'd seen a couple of them every day we'd been here, but one of them I couldn't place. "Hey, you guys some kind of dragon-queens or somethin'?" He pranced with little flaps of his arms for emphasis.

"Cut it out, Gary," One of them said, trying to stifle his laughs.

"I don't mean anything offensive by it, I'm just genuinely curious," he said.

"I don't know, are we?" Ethan asked as he looked down at me with a devilish smirk on his face. Daring. It intrigued me and made me uncomfortable all at the same time.

And when that's when he leaned over, closed his eyes, and locked lips to mine. The taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him – it was all too much, and it practically sent my brain right over the railing and down into the crowd. I just stood there, frozen, while he moved his jaw, his mouth against mine.

The guards whistled and jeered, and that's when I was pulled out of the moment and began getting nervous sweats.

"Guess that answers my question," said the portly blonde who'd asked in the first place. They casually walked away, laughing and shoving each other. "I knew that I was right – pay up, Ben!"

Ethan laughed when he pulled away, too satisfied to have noticed the bizarre expression on my face, a mixture of horror and shock; horrified that those guards had been somewhat an audience and had prior bets placed on our therapy sessions, and shocked that it had actually happened.

When Ethan looked back at me, his playful grin fell like weights were hooked into the corners of his mouth. No doubt at my frozen visage.

"I-I'm sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?" He asked, panicked. "Look, I didn't mean anything, I just thought… Well, we're friends. I thought it'd be fun to throw them for a loop, drop some jaws, and so on."

I swallowed, still able to taste him on the tips of my lips. He took a cautionary step back.

"Say something, please," he said. I snapped out of my daze when he really started looking worried.

"It's fine," I said, my voice a bit high and cracked. I cleared my throat and drew in a deep breath. "It was fine, nothing to worry about, totally fine."

"You don't look fine," he said.

"I'm just not a public kind of guy… Never been one to perform in front of a crowd," I said. "Ever hear me tell a joke in public? I mess it up every time, true story."

I'd hoped my humor was hitting the right spots. He smiled, but still looked a little worried.

"I assure you, I'm fine," I said with a smile. "I mean, you've got great breath and, even though it was to get a rouse out of some guards, you put some effort into it; could've been worse, right?"

I patted his shoulder for emphasis. He finally relaxed a little and I took another deep breath.

"So you're not freaked out?" He asked. I didn't fully understand that question. Was it just about the kiss? Was I supposed to be drawing more from this moment than I was?

"Of course not," I said. _I'd been dreaming of it for a while now_, is what I didn't say out loud. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

My phone vibrated in my pocket. "Hold onto that thought."

I looked down at the brightly lit face; Ash. I pressed the answer button.

"Lieutenant," I answered.

"Meet me by West Fairmont Park now," he said. I looked at Ethan, who was dying to know what was going on as I lowered my voice and tried to block out the noise from all around me.

"What's this about?"

"That tape you brought me just gave us a major breakthrough in the case," he said. "We know how all of the victims are connected to the killer. And we know who he's going to go after next."


	7. Chapter 6: The Night Visitor

6. THE NIGHT VISITOR

Autumn leaves fell in fluid gusts of chilled night wind. The flickering lamps cast golden-orange light on the warmth billowing from the sewer grates and manholes in the streets, casting shadow from steam. I remembered there being ducks in the park ponds back home, but here they were barren. I supposed it was just the time of year. A few people still lingered around the park, some bums, a few couples.

It was strange that something so beautiful could seem so provoking in the darkness; the park looked like a haunted house display, with dying trees and unrecognizable shadows moving about in the distance.

Ethan seemed calm, if anything just a little cold. His nose and tips of his ears were a little pink, and he sniffled here and there.

We hadn't really spoken since we'd left the shopping center. Rather, he'd spoken here or there, trying to break the near-palpable silence between us, but I had nothing to say to him. What could I say? I couldn't figure the guy out. He'd surprised me today, shattered the web I'd put together on his personality.

He was a reserved man, playful but didn't like to stick out in a crowd. What he did today had changed him from predictable to an enigma.

That kiss, he'd said it was a prank. I hadn't met a single straight guy in my life who would kiss his pal just to give some mall cops a run for their gamble. He said it meant nothing, and if Ethan was anything, he was straight forward and honest. So I supposed that I should take it for what it was; nothing.

But I just couldn't shake it. He didn't make sense. I didn't make sense. I couldn't rely on logic for this one, I'd tried all day and it was getting me more and more turned around.

I stole a glance at him. He was perfectly at ease, staring out at the pond and the white and orange fish still swimming therein.

What was he thinking of?

"Jayden." I heard Ash's voice before I saw him. He walked beneath a street lamp as he approached us and glanced over his shoulders. A bit over the top, I thought, but then again something had him on edge.

"Ash," I nodded. He glanced at Ethan, and quirked a curious brow.

"Mr. Mars," Ashe said. "What is he doing here?"

"Ethan's my partner," I said. I was sure that it would tickle his ego as much as it confused the hell out of Ash. The lieutenant didn't bother wasting time on questions and instead moved right along. He held out a manila envelope and I took it, looking it over. Opening the top, I saw a series of printed photographs. I immediately recognized them as stills from the tape I'd given Ash.

"So it was the right tape," I said. It was meant to be a thought, but at the moment I was too wrapped up in relief that my own personal delusion had been wrong and was just trying to psych me out.

As I fingered through the screen caps, some of Allison's face, some of the killer's razor, I came across one that was most definitely unrelated.

I slipped this oddball picture out of the envelope and studied it. Two teenagers, two boys, one arm around the other and laughing. The one on the left; black hair, green eyes. The one on the right; brown hair, hazel-green eyes, glasses. Slight resemblance, but nothing concrete. Maybe brothers.

"What's this?" I asked.

"A still from that tape, something that was recorded over. There are a few flickers in there where a cell had been skipped over," Ash said.

I studied over the image, and spotted something in the background. A sign, but only half of one. The letters ST. C, and below them ORP.

"O-R-P," I thought aloud.

"Yes, short for Orphanage," Ashe said. "We weren't certain until we ran Desmond Casey's name through state records. There was a Desmond Casey in St. Christian's Orphanage until he turned eighteen."

"So what happened to him after that?" I asked.

"We don't know, that's when he vanishes," Ash said with an exhausted groan. "But take a wild guess at who else was in this orphanage with him."

"Allison Harper?" I asked, knowing the answer well enough.

"As well as Denise Juneau, Lauryn Whitaker, Jessica Greene, and Monica Deveraux," Ashe said. "The two boys in that picture are Desmond Casey and his brother, Rex, almost thirty years ago. That tape must have been a home movie, a souvenir kept by Casey after he left the orphanage and then used to record Allison Harper's rape."

"Why film the murder over something so obvious?" I asked.

"Actually, that is not the night of Allison Harper's murder," Ash said. I glanced back down at the stills, and remembered the fear in her voice as Desmond pulled out his razor. It sure as hell looked like the night of. "Allison Harper had a sparrow tattooed just above her right breast six months ago. That tattoo isn't present in this video."

So he raped her multiple times up until her death? But she hadn't been reported missing until days before her death. And she never reported being raped beforehand, she hadn't reported anything.

"Have you been able to get a hold of anyone at this orphanage? Anyone who's been there for the last thirty years?"

"St. Christian's was closed down by the state in 1984. The few youths left were transferred to other centers until they were old enough to leave on their own," Ash said. The list of names it quite short."

"Any one of them could be the killer's next victim," Ethan said. Ash glanced up at him again, seemingly having forgotten that he was even there. "Maybe we should try and find these people, ask if they know anything about Desmond Casey?"

"That's actually not a bad idea," I said.

"Madison is terrific at tracking down people," Ethan said. I ground my teeth but remembered the deal I'd made with him.

"I'm sure that the police station can track them down well enough," I said.

"Actually, Jayden, your friend here is on the right track," Ash said. My jaw nearly fell right open. Did Ash realize what he was saying? "The more research I conduct at the station, the more access Carter has to this information. My records are just as available to him as they are to the rest of the force who use our network."

"You do realize that he's referring to Madison Paige, the reporter?" I asked. "Anything she gets involved in is free for her to publish in the papers."

"Our resources are limited, and our options fewer still," Ash said. "Do what you need to do to find these other women before anything else happens."

Ash walked away, into the darkness of dusk and gloom, leaving me standing with an envelope of gruesome torture and a very guilty looking Ethan. He knew my stance on Madison Paige. Still, I knew that she was a valuable source of information for us.

I just didn't want to admit defeat.

So we had Desmond Casey possibly raping Allison Harper, who knew Casey, though it may have been staged. And if that were the case, why kill her?

Who was controlling the camera?

Ethan took the wheel on the way home. He was clearly deep in thought, probably wondering when to call Madison. I just didn't get their relationship. I mean, she was nice and all, but she clearly didn't think much of him when she wrote that character analysis. Why befriend a woman who barely respects you?

Then again, I didn't really know what things had been like in the two years they'd been friends. She could have turned out to be mother-friggin'-Teresa for all I knew, I didn't know the chick.

"You want to talk?" Ethan asked. I glanced at him, barely able to keep my eyes open. I was dead tired. Hadn't slept much since starting this entire investigation. It wasn't that I was uncomfortable sleeping on Ethan's couch, it was better than any bed I'd ever rolled in. But I couldn't shake the voices of those girls, or the images in my head of Desmond Casey mutilating them in such inhumane ways; taking the essence of their womanhood and destroying it.

He had to have something against women.

"Talk about what?" I asked.

"Anything, whatever you'd like to," he said.

"I've really got nothing to say," I said.

Ethan slowed down as we hit a red light, and the only sound to be heard was the rumble of the car. He tapped his fingers on the wheel while I slumped in my seat, trying to stay awake. I had things to sort out once we got back to his place, pages to update, and questions to mark down before I forgot them.

"It's about earlier, isn't it?" He asked. "I overstepped a boundary by dragging you into that joke, breaking some macho FBI bro-code of yours that made you uncomfortable."

"Macho FBI Bro Code?" I asked. Did he really just say that?

"I mean, you're an All-American, masculine, beer-chugging guy and I crossed a line when I kissed you in front of those guards today." He looked over and smirked. "It's okay, I'm not going to be offended by your honesty."

I sulked in my seat for a moment as he brought up the afternoon's event again. I mean, he was incredibly perceptive, picking up my mood about what had happened and how I felt about being used. But he thought that I was grumpy for the wrong reasons. As much as I would've loved to clear his conscience about it all, I just wasn't up for talking about that subject yet, knowing how I felt about him and not wanting to lie to him while not wanting to hint any such truths.

"You're right, it did make me uncomfortable," I admitted. He nodded thoughtfully, and I could see a dozen thoughts buzzing around his eyes. I wished that there were some magical buttons I could press to hear said thoughts, but as there weren't I had to intervene before he got the wrong idea. "But not for the reasons you're thinking."

"Oh? And what am I thinking?" He asked.

"That I'm some cocky, Andric stud who had my feelings violated when you kissed me," I said. Ethan cocked his head with a slight nod. "I may be cocky, and at times I might try and retain some semblance of masculinity when called out by some jerk, but I'm not narrow or vapid."

"I never thought you were," he said. "So why are you so bothered by it?"

All right, he wanted the truth; why not hand it to him with garnishments on the side?

"Because I felt used," I said. "You used me to poke fun at what those guards had bet on us, and you didn't even stop to consider how I would feel about it. It wasn't about my macho stud-status, it was about being made a tool. I mean, how would you feel if you were gay and I used you to make a point?"

"Are you saying you're gay?" He asked. I folded my arms in a huff.

"I'm not saying enethin'." He cruised along the clear, wet roads casually. I glanced over and saw a small smirk on his face. What was he so pleased about?

"It's not like I was trying to use or insult you _if_ you're gay," he said. "I'm sorry, I didn't think of how you would feel about being pulled into that situation. You were right, I did make a tool of you against your will, it wasn't fair, and I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," I said.

"Can I ask you a question?" He asked, trying his hardest not to smile. And it made me struggle to keep my attitude stewing because he just looked so damn cute trying to keep a serious tone. It wasn't working anymore than my attempt to stay moody was working.

"Yes," I said.

"Are you gay?" He asked.

I hung my head with a sigh, partly in frustration and partly because he had so much control over my moods. It wasn't fair; even when I _wanted_ to be mad at him I couldn't pull it off, and here I was grinning with him.

"Yes, if you must know," I said. "But I don't give a rat's ass about Judy Garland, before you start piling stereotypes on me."

"Do I detect a bit of anger in there?" He asked. "What did Judy Garland do to you? Did she take your chocolate milk in a time warp or something?"

"I'd die before I let Judy Garland take my chocolate milk," I said. Ethan chuckled as he parked along the curb to the house. I was happy to stretch my legs and arms. I closed the door and spotted Ethan staring at me from across the roof of the car.

"I really am sorry," he said. With those wide, sincere eyes of his on that mug… I couldn't hold a grudge if I'd wanted to.

"Don't worry about it," I said.

Lying there in the darkness of the living room that night, I found myself too distracted to sleep. Too many elements of the case running through my head.

The killer's picture was taken decades ago; he could look like anyone by now. His hair could be any color, his facial structure could've changed drastically, his height, his build. Way too many things for one guy like me to keep track of.

What had happened to his brother? The other kids in the orphanage?

Something shot from my shoulder down my left arm, like a swelteringly hot needle dragged under my skin the entire way. I arched my back and rolled off of the couch to get any pressure or weight off of the arm.

Another pain moved down my back, like a burning knife slowly slicing and digging into my muscle and tissue, scraping the bone and cartilage until I cried out against my will.

I bite down and pulled myself to my feet. The room, everything was blurry, shifting and changing in my vision as my depth perception faltered. My throat was dry, scratchy. I needed water.

I took a few labored steps toward the stairs to make it up to Ethan's bathroom before I puked all over the floor downstairs. That was easier thought than done, especially when my body was working against me on this one.

I gripped the banister, my hands weak and trembling. I felt the heaves hitting my stomach, and I swallowed to fight back the bile. If I could just make it up the stairs.

But halfway up, a jolt of pain rocked a tremor through my entire body, and I collapsed. I was paralyzed, slumped over the steps of the stairway and helpless to do anything. I couldn't blink, I couldn't breathe – it was an indescribable hell.

I couldn't even twitch a finger. The only moving muscle in my body was my heart, which I could feel pounding in my chest.

A shoe appeared at my side, grimy and soiled with mud. I felt two gloved fingers press against my neck to see if I was still alive, but I wouldn't be for much longer. My lungs felt like they were on fire, and I began feeling dizzier with every breath not taken.

"Victim seems to be in a state of paralysis," said the guy – me. I knelt over myself and a gloved hand ran through my cold, damp head. I could feel everything, including the tingling feeling in the tips of my fingers, but I couldn't move.

How I wanted to call for help, Ethan, Madison – hell, even Blake would do.

"You don't look so good, buddy," The other me said. "You're running yourself into the ground, putting too much stress on a structure that already wasn't up to code in the first place."

He patted my back, and suddenly I gained control of my lungs. I breathed in, so sharply that I drew a little bit of saliva into my lungs and nearly choked to death. I felt control return to my limbs and I rolled onto my back, coughing out the drool.

"You really shouldn't be doing this to yourself again," he said. I said.

"I have to stop this guy," I said. I got to my trembling hands and shaky knees, forcing my weakened muscles up the stairs, one by one as I followed behind.

"Then might I suggest a remedy to your plight, my friend?"

I made it to the top of the stairs, crawling along the cool floor into the bathroom. I had to decide the sink, or the toilet first?

My stomach had made the decision for me. I gripped the seat and hauled my head over the bowl, throwing up chunks of what was left in my stomach, as well as a hefty pool of juices. My eyes tried to focus in the darkness; they felt as though they were going to pop out of my skull every time I dry heaved.

I reached up, struggling to keep my aim straight as my arm swayed left and right out of weakness. I'd never felt so feeble in my life.

I flipped the light on, and saw my own visage looking down pitifully at myself. And would I see from that vantage point? Me, collapsed on the floor, curled around the toilet and shivering helplessly.

"You need me," he said. "Without me, you can't finish this race. Without me, you can't help anyone, let alone yourself."

Suddenly I knew just who I was talking to.

"Fuck off," I said. I rolled onto my stomach, easing my body up; first onto my knees and elbows, and then using the counter to pull myself up. I turned on the faucet and cupped my unsteady hands to rinse the vomit out of my mouth.

"You need me to balance you out, just long enough to crack this case. You knew that you would; why else am I here?" he asked. "I'm just down the hall in the office, right inside the hidden pocket on the inside of your duffle bag."

"I said fuck off," I repeated. "I don't need you. You're just something I keep with me to remind me of the mistakes of my past and why I should never so back there."

"You know, the sooner you track this killer down, the sooner you get your life back," he said. I looked up into his smug little grin as he stood behind me. "You'll have proven that you are still the man you once were, that you're not helpless against what they did to you."

I looked into my own face. I was so hollow, so pale and clammy. My eyes were red around the edges, and my vision kept failing me as my dilated eyes fell victim to these damn pulses in my brain.

I'm not sure if the blood was real or not, but I knew that the tears were as watery red streaks cascaded down my cheeks to my jaw.

"Let me help you," he said. His hand gripped my shoulder and it felt as real as Ethan would feel.

I turned away, trying to keep my balance as I wobbled down the hallway. I leaned my forehead against the door as my hand hesitated on the doorknob. I took steady breaths as I tried to think of anything but the pain throbbing in my joints, and the ache behind my eyes as the early stages of a migraine ravaged my brain.

I opened the door and feel to my knees, unzipping my duffle bag on the floor beside Ethan's work desk. I pulled out my shirts, my underwear, my pants, and found the inside zipper against the left side of the bag.

I dragged the zipper open, slowly, reaching in and rolling the vial into my fingers.

And there he was, the answer to my prayers. The answer to my pain. I held it in my hands and saw Jesus. Hell, I saw heaven itself, blue and ethereal like a vapor.

My chest trembled just as unsteadily as my hands as I tried to keep my breathing calm, but I couldn't help it as crimson tears stained my white tee shirt. I curled my fingers around the vial and dropped my head to the floor, curling into myself as I gripped the vial gently, yet angrily, because I wanted it so badly. And the voices from the photos on top of the desk were egging me on, telling me that it was the only way to help them. And I was in so much pain.

And all of it would go away if I just opened the capsule and took a hit. Just one hit.

It would all go away.

Just one hit.

I sat back on my heals, and struggled to keep my hands steady as I gripped the tip of the vial to twist and open the cap.

I stared at it for a long time as the agonizing fire in my head grew like weeds, and my skin burned. And I knew that he was staring back at me, knowing that I was still struggling against him, but that I would eventually lose.

I would always lose. Because I was weaker than he was, and he knew it.

I could practically hear him laughing in my hand, ushering me to him to coddle me and assure me that I was doing to right thing.

Then I felt two warm, gentle hands on my shoulders, and someone knelt beside me, keeping me steady.

"That's the drug, isn't it?" Ethan asked. I couldn't even give him a simple yes, I was too ashamed. I just sobbed and dropped the vial. His arms wrapped around me and pulled me into his chest.

"I just want the pain to stop," I said. I couldn't even understand myself over the sobs, I was sure that Ethan wouldn't have picked anything out of that.

He shushed me and stroked his fingers through my hair, rocking me like a child in his arms. I supposed that it was his initial reaction as a father with a strong paternal instinct.

"You're burning a fever," he said.

He pulled me up, fighting against the dead weight to get me to my feet. I tried to push up from the ground with him, using what strength I had left in my body. I would be damned before I was going to be carried anywhere Bridal Style. I'd cut off my right arm before I became so completely helpless.

He led me into his room and helped me into his bed. Once he let go, I slumped like a rag doll.

"I'm going to get some painkillers and anti-fever medicine," he said. The way he held his hand up to me was as if to say 'wait here' – like I could go anywhere.

There wasn't much else I remembered after he force fed me the pills other than the vision of myself at the foot of the bed with a wicked smile. Because he knew that if it wasn't this moment, it would only be a matter of time before he won.

He would always win.


	8. Chapter 7: Road Trip

7. ROAD TRIP

Allison Harper - deceased

Denise Marie Juneau - deceased

Lauryn Whitaker - deceased

Jessica Greene - deceased

Monica Jane Deveraux - deceased

Rachael Leigh – Pittburg, PA

April May June - Really?

Desmond Casey - ?

Rex Casey - ?

Katelyn Vaughn - ?

As much as I didn't like to admit it, Madison had been able to find the names of all the kids who were last in St. Christian's before the place was shut down. She got them pretty damn fast, too. She was still working on where the others were located, but that gave us time to visit our first.

Ethan, of course, was slightly proud about being right, but knew me just enough to know that it wasn't best to boast aloud.

The easiest to track down and question was Rachael Leigh. Apparently Ms. Leigh had become quite a lucrative entrepreneur in the twenty-seven years since St. Christians, owning her own vast fortune. How did she get so rich?

She started out sewing costumes for dog. And apparently there were enough people in the continental U.S. who liked to subject their beloved and loyal pets to humiliation and degradation. I mean, honestly, what Chihuahua is going to want to be prancing around in a tutu?

It was a five-and-a-half drive to Pittsburg. I told Ethan that we would be bunking in a motel overnight since there was no way I would feel like spending 11 hours in a car in one day. So while he was upstairs packing an overnight bag, I was downstairs at the kitchen table trying to get a hold of Ms. Leigh to see if she was available to see us when we hit town. If she didn't answer then I'd have to pop up and surprise her, and that rarely went well.

"I'm all packed," Ethan said as he came down the steps, satchel in hand. "I called Grace and let her know that I won't be home until tomorrow evening, so if Shaun needed something she knows where the spare key is."

I clicked print on his laptop to get the directions as he walked up behind me.

"Can I see the list?" He asked. I handed the list of names to him carelessly and went about finding a cheap motel in the area.

"April May June – really?"

"Really," I said. "Some parents like to make life rough on their kids by naming them something corny. Apparently hers _really_ wanted to make things difficult by giving her up at birth."

"Would _Norman_ be considered something difficult to live with?" Ethan asked playfully. I glared sardonically and sneered. "Hey, don't defensive – my middle name is Travis. You think I didn't have a hard time growing up?"

"E.T. Mars?" I asked blithely.

"Yeah, try getting by that one," he said.

The doorbell rang and Ethan sat his satchel on the table. I heard him great Madison as he urged her to come inside.

"Hey, I wanted to know if you were able to get a hold of Rachael yet?" Madison asked.

"Nothing yet," I said. "We're about to head out the door and hit the road."

"Pittsburg, here we come," Ethan said.

"Yeehaw," I said dryly. Oh, how I couldn't wait for Pittsburg. I was pretty certain that my sarcasm could be seen from space.

"Road trip? Mind if I come along?" Madison asked.

"I'd rather you didn't," I said.

"Norman," Ethan groaned.

"I'm just saying that the less people present, the less people in danger. It's for your safety, Madison," I said. To some extent that was true.

"I'm going – how come you don't mind putting _me_ in danger?" He asked.

"I did mind – I tried to get you to stay, remember?" He smirked a little.

"Come on, Jayden; I'd be so useful to you both. The three of us would be the dream team of investigators," she said. Madison leaned on the counter and pushed her cleavage out, squeezing her arms together to accentuate her wiles. "Please?"

Ethan snickered; she didn't understand what was so comical about watching her try to beguile me onto her side with sex appeal, but he sure as hell did. I stared her down as I tapped my finger on the table, tossing my options over in my head.

"You'd need to gather a few things, and we don't have to wait on you to run to your house and come back," I said.

"I have a bag of clothes and incidentals in the department beneath the seat of my bike," she said.

"You were planning on coming with us?" That certainly wasn't winning me over. "Ethan, did you tell her about this trip?"

"…I might have let something slip," he said with a sly grin.

"I promise I won't get on your nerves," she said. I rolled my eyes when she jutted out her bottom lip, quivering it with woe. "Please? I'll be your best friend."

"I don't need any best friends who write for the American Tribune," I said stiffly.

"I'll give you foot massages for a week," she said.

"I can rub my own feet, thank you," I said. Although I had to say, the idea sounded very tempting at the moment.

"Yeah, but while you're here I'll be your foot-rubbing slave. You don't even have to ask, you can just order me to do it. Just say; 'Get over here and get busy!' And I'll be right there."

I didn't know whether it was the say she'd bobbed her head when she impersonated me, or whether it was the idea of a good foot rub whenever I wanted one, especially since I'd been on my feet so much lately. I groaned and rubbed my cheeks.

"All right, but I don't want you making it fucking obvious to Rachael Leigh that you're a journalist – that's a surefire way to get her trap sealed shut, and she might have information that could lead us to Desmond Casey," I said.

"Right, no mentioning to _anyone_ that I'm a journalist," she said.

"And I'm asking the questions. I don't want to hear you whining when you don't get to ask what you want, because we can just leave you behind right now and save me the trouble if that's going to be the case."

"Right, no whining."

"And no begging," I added.

"And no begging – when you say 'hush,' I'll be quieter than a church mouse," she said.

"I'm going to remember you said that," I said, eyeing her down.

"Agreed," she said giddily. We shook on it, and she squealed, rushing out the door to go and get her things.

"That was very nice of you to allow her to come along," Ethan said commendably. "You handled it like an adult, and I'm proud of you."

"You owe me big time for this," I said.

"You're already getting foot rubs from Madison, I think the information leak is squared," Ethan said. He sat down across from me and his tone became serious. "About last night…"

"I'm fine, Ethan; just a small episode, nothing to worry about," I said. I felt fine when I woke up this morning, and had a big breakfast; I was on top of the friggin' world.

"If that's a small episode, I can't imagine what it's like on a regular basis," he said.

"I manage, all right? What happened is done and over with, and now we can focus on Rachael Leigh." He frowned, disappointed, and balled his fists on the table. He then leaned back in the chair, slightly letting his head bob loosely around his shoulders, and reached into his pocket.

The vial. He spun it around and around in his fingers. "So you're still using it?"

"I haven't touched that stuff in two years," I said. His eyes were somewhat critical, disparagingly judging me. "I swear, Ethan, that's the god's honest truth."

"Then why is this here?" He asked. I couldn't exactly come up with a reason that made tangible sense, it was just something that I needed nearby, something I had to prove.

"It's so that I won't forget that I'm just a man," I said. "It's sort of like my Kryptonite, and I keep it nearby to remind myself when I should just walk away."

"Don't you think that's a bit like playing with fire?" Ethan asked.

"I think it's like jumping into a volcano, but it's just something that I need," I said.

"I think that you should throw it away. If you had any integrity, you'd do it for me, if not for yourself," Ethan said. He sat it down on the table and stood up from his chair, reaching for his satchel. "I'll be waiting in the car."

I didn't like the way he'd said that, nor the disapproving look in his eyes as he turned to walk away.

"Ethan," I said. My voice sounded desperate; I didn't care. He looked up at me again, that sullen judgment still lingering around his eyes like an aura. "You do believe me, right?"

"I believe you," he said flatly. "It's what I saw last night that I don't trust. If you could've seen yourself from where I was standing, I think you'd understand."

I ran a frustrated hand through my hair; he didn't understand. I stared down at the vial.

Maybe he was right? Maybe I should just throw it away? I'd been so deep in detective work that the symptoms were getting worse. If I kept this up, who knew where my mind, my body – where _I_ would be a week, two weeks from now. If things got so bad that I couldn't take it anymore, I might just use it.

Then again, it could save my life if the side effects became too overwhelming.

I swept the vial into my hand and stuffed it in my coat pocket.

Things were a little rough between Ethan and me after our conversation in the kitchen. Somehow I think that he knew that I still had the vial of Tripto on me. Madison looked uncomfortable in the front seat, glancing over at Ethan as he drove, and me as I went over my fact sheets in the back seat. Our tension must have been palpable to keep her quiet for so long. Not that I minded, exactly.

"It's chilly," Madison said. Ethan grunted, I went on about my business. "How about some music?"

"Sure," Ethan said.

"No," I said. Madison looked back at me with some impression of incredulity, a brow quirked down as if to say 'Seriously?' "I like to be able to keep track of my thoughts while I'm reading. I don't want another victim to die just because you needed to listen to Ace of Bass."

"Okay…" Madison leaned her forehead against the window and watched the cars drive by in the rain.

I kept wondering whether Monica Deveraux was alive or not. What was Ash doing to find her?

"Are you boys going to tell me what's up between you?" Madison asked.

"Nothing to write home about," Ethan said. I laughed. Despite the attitude, it was funny. "If you need to use the bathroom or gather snacks and provisions, I suggest doing so now."

He pulled into the muddy, gravel ridden lot of a gas station and parked beside a pump.

"Good, I need to get out of this car," she said. She opened the door and stretched, and I kicked my feet up on the seat.

"Hey Madison," I called out. She bent low and glanced inside the car, taking note of the mischievous grin on my face. "Get back here and get busy."

"You're not serious," she said. "You want a foot rub right now?"

"I need it to concentrate. The more relaxed I am, the easier it is to crack this case," I said.

"You've got to be kidding – it's raining 'Nam out here!"

"I seem you recall you using the word slave at one point, didn't she Ethan?" I heard Ethan chuckle and he opened the door, opting out of taking sides on this one. Madison groaned, shut the front door and opened the back, climbing inside as I casually kicked off my shoes and placed my feet on her lap with a smile as wide as a hyena's.

Four hours later, and one hell of a back ache later, we arrived at the motel I'd circled on the map. A small dive, nothing too extravagant, and most importantly off the map. If anyone was looking for us, this was the last place in the state they'd think of looking for us.

"How many of you will be sharing rooms?" The guy behind the desk asked. Short, probably 5'7", with a long, grey, thinning ponytail and thick rimmed glasses. I took note of the fishing vest around his shoulders, and the 14-point buck head mounted above his office door. A hunter, kept to himself.

"We'll each have separate rooms, preferably adjoined," I said. Ethan moved as if to say something, but backed down. Something was on his mind.

"Will you each be paying separately?" He asked.

"I'll be putting all three rooms on my card." You're welcome, Madison.

My room was practically a closet, so small that the bed barely fit inside with about two feet of walking space around it. The bathroom was dingy; didn't plan on using that anytime soon. I'd drive the highway to find another gas station if the urge called.

I set my small bag down on the bed and sat on the edge, running a hand through my wet hair to shake out the water. I reached into my pocket to fish out my phone, but reached into the wrong one and felt the vial.

Somehow it'd made it out of my pocket and sat cradled in the palm of my hand as I looked it over. I reached over, unzipped the bag, slipped the Triptocaine into the inside pocket and zipped it shut to be done with it all.

There was a soft knock on the door. I groaned as audibly as possible. I just wanted to lay down and stretch out for I while. Reluctantly, I bounced up and stepped over to the door, opening it.

"Hey," Ethan said. "Feel like talking?"

"Not really," I said.

"Come on, I won't bite," he said. He slipped a box from behind his back; doughnuts. "As an added inducement I brought these."

"Is that supposed to be some kind of bribe?" I asked.

"I thought you government lackeys loved doughnuts," Ethan said. I leaned my head against the door, sighing and stepping aside. He stepped in, out of the rain, and sat the box on the bed.

I took his coat and laid it with mine over the wooden chair that sat beside the window and he sat down, hands clapping on his knees as he glanced around the room. I sat down next to him and leaned forward.

"So you wanted to talk?" I asked.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about what I said this morning," he said.

"You know, you spend half of your time apologizing to me these days."

"It's none of my business why you keep that stuff around you. It's your life, and if you need your reminder then you should keep it." He frowned a bit, thinking through whatever went through that head of his. Then his calm, baby blue eyes locked onto mine. "Still, even though I overreacted and it's none of my business… I think that you should get rid of it."

I ran the fingers on my right hand along my chin, stroking it in thought. Should I tell him the truth? The whole truth? As a father, what would he think of me after he knew what I'd done?

It was hard enough for me to accept, and I wasn't in Ethan's shoes. There was no telling what he'd think of me. But the only way to find out was to explain it to him, and it was the only way he'd completely look past this hurdle we'd come to.

"The truth is that you're right, Ethan, completely right – I should get rid of it," I said. I couldn't look him in the eye, so I stared at the floor and hoped for the best. "But that's not going to happen. The complete truth is that I may eventually use it one day. Not that I want to, or totally intend to, but it is a possibility."

"Why? If it's done this much to you, if it has this much hold over your life, why would you subject yourself to this… mindless torment?"

"Because the last time I allowed myself to get too involved in a case without balancing out my addictions, it cost me my life, and my conscience. I will never forgive myself for what happened. And it's something I'll have to live with. But I won't let it happen again."

"What happened?" He asked. I put my head in my hands, prepping myself to walk down that memory. Not that all the preparation in the world could make it any easier. But for Ethan's trust I'd do it.

"After a year of being weaned off of the ARI device, I was ready to go back to work. I was put on this case, I was following a drug lord. But I was still having these… rifts in reality. I was advised to keep a small amount of triptocaine on my person at all times in case something like this happened again. But I was stubborn; proud. I knew that I could overcome anything thrown at me.

"There was a sting, and Monty Gespard, the ring leader of the cartel, was getting away. I chased him down, out into the streets. And then I felt this sense, like I knew that my mind was going to have another breakdown. But I pressed on anyway because I knew that I could get to him before the ARI side effects started working against me. I was determined that I could overcome the effects without having to rely on the tripto. Having to do that would mean weakness.

"I caught up to Gespard. He had a little girl at his side, an innocent hostage. With a gun to her head, he threatened to shoot her if I didn't lower my gun. The world around me became a blur, and I knew that I was already over the edge and into a residual trip, but I had to bring this guy down to prove that I was still on top of the game.

"I fired, and put a bullet right between Gespard's eyes. The girl lived. I'd saved her. But she kept kneeling down and crying over him, I couldn't understand it. I'd just saved her life, he was holding her at gunpoint, and yet she was crying over his body. I walked up to Monty's body as my men arrived.

"Julianna Breslin lay dead on the concrete as her daughter, Hannah, cried over her body. I'd shot an innocent woman right in front of her kid." I tried to keep my face shaded away from Ethan. I could feel him watching me. Not that I was crying, I just couldn't bear the judgment that I would see in them.

"Pride killed that woman, my pride. And my bureau, which I'd served loyally for fifteen years, decided to honorably 'retire' me to ease the guilt on their hands for doing this to us," I said. "I keep that vial not only as a reminder, but so that I can make damn certain that something like that will never, ever, happen again."

I built up the courage to look at Ethan. I wasn't sure when he'd stopped staring at me, but now he seemed to favor the wall ahead.

"Can you understand that?" I asked.

"Without condemning, I understand," he said.

He stood up and reached for the door, pausing only briefly. Again, he wanted to say something but chose to keep his thoughts to himself and left, closing the door behind him and leaving only silence in his wake.

I hated that I couldn't make out what he was thinking. I was supposed to be able to get inside of people's heads.

I grabbed my car keys and coat, heading out the door. I needed to drive, I needed to be alone for a while. And what better way to spend my time than to hunt down Rachael Leigh and get this trial out of the way?

Her place definitely wasn't hard to find. On the outskirts of Pittsburg, a single house about half a mile away from the next house. Reminded me of those old horror flicks where the heroine's all alone on a full moon night, and some axe-wielding maniac has it in for her for no particular reason other than he's bored and evil.

I knocked on her door, and the porch light flipped on. A woman, short and much younger than I'd been expecting, answered the door. She eyed me suspiciously from the ground up with a look of contempt.

"You a reporter?" She asked. I had to bark a laugh.

"Nowhere near," I said.

"You just have that look about you," she said. "So who are you and what do you want?"

"Is this the home of Rachael Leigh?" I asked.

"Depends on who's looking for her," the woman said. I took that as a yes.

"I'm agent Norman Jayden, FBI," I said. I figured since I'd gone through the trouble of making the badge I may as well get as much mileage out of it as possible. Impersonating a federal agent could land me three years in federal prison with a $250,000 fine, but being an honorary retiree of the bureau I figured I could slip by.

The woman stepped aside and I thanked her for letting me inside. She led me through the neat and tidy house, filled with hokey abstract paintings and statues. She stopped at a door and knocked lightly.

"Mom," she said. "Mom, there's some guy from the FBI to see you."

"Come in." the young woman opened the door and stepped aside. I walked slowly inside the room. It was cold in here, and smelled like a hospital.

Rachael Leigh lied in bed, sickly frail and looking close to death. Her honey-blonde hair was rife with white and grey shades, and her hollow

"FBI, you said?" She asked.

"Yes, ma'am," I said. "I'm agent Norman Jayden. I'd like to ask you a few questions, if now's a good time."

"If this it is about that fraudulent scam that my assistant was running behind my back, you're out of luck. I've already said everything I have to say publicly about that, and any other questions you may have, Mr. Jayden, can be forwarded to my lawyer."

"That's not why I'm here, Ms. Leigh." I reached into my coat pocket and slipped the picture of Desmond Rex out to hand to her. "Do you recognize the boys in this picture?"

Rachael reached for her glasses on the chest beside her bed and slipped them onto the ridge of her nose. The reaction was immediate, she knew them.

"Elizabeth, please leave us alone," Rachael said. Rachael dropped the picture and slid the glasses off of her nose, grabbing her chest.

"Mom, is everything all right?" Elizabeth asked.

"Please, just leave, sweetheart," Rachael said. Elizabeth closed the door without another word. "Sit, Mr. Jayden, sit."

I carefully settled my weight onto the edge of the bed at her side.

"What is this about?" She asked. I unfolded the list of names and placed them on top of the photo.

"I'm a criminal profiler investigating a string of murders. All of the victims were women who'd come from this orphanage, the same one that you grew up in."

"St. Christians," Rachael said.

I believe that this man, Desmond Casey, is the Barbershop Killer on account of his modus operandi, his brutal incisions with a straight razor," I said. Rachael placed her hands in her lap and gnawed on the inside of her jaw as she thought. "I'd just like to ask you for whatever information you may have on Desmond Casey and his whereabouts."

"I knew that boy. I did," she said. "The other one in this photo, it's Rex, his younger brother. If I recall correctly, their parents had died in some terrible tragedy just before they were given to the state.

"They say look out for the quiet ones, and oh, Rex was a quiet one. But it's really the loud ones that cause trouble. Desmond wasn't just a boy. There was something inside of him that drove him, it governed him. He was so angry all the time, always so confrontational and trying to blame someone. One day that anger drove him to an act that will forever remain burned in my memory.

"There was a new girl, Katie. She was twelve when she arrived, so Desmond would've been, oh… Seventeen about that time. He immediately took a liking to her for some reason. The rest of us knew it wasn't right. Just the way he looked at her should have been enough for us to step in and do something, but we didn't know any better.

"Katie was a writer, and oh, she could write. She had a brilliant mind, always so happy. Like the anti-Desmond. Where he promoted hate, and anger, and chaos, she promoted unconditional love to the rest of us.

"One day, down by the lake, he and Katie were playing. It wasn't any different than any other day, but this time something in his eye glinted as he looked at Katie. Something he'd been fantasizing about for a while, I would guess. He took Katie into the trees. He said he just wanted to show her something.

"And then the screams came. We ran and ran, trying to find them. By the time we found her it was too late, Desmond had already violated her, took her innocence and left her on the floor of the woods alone. She was bleeding. He had these razors, see; beautifully crafter knives with sterling silver handles. A family heirloom, I believe. He'd cut her while he raped her.

"The rest of us, we tried to tell Sister Hale, but she wouldn't hear of it. Desmond had gotten away with his crimes and he knew it. So there was nothing to stop him when he decided to go after Katie again, and again."

Rachael was quiet for a moment as she stared down into the face of the boy she recalled.

"Then St. Christians was closed, and we were all separated. I don't know whatever became of Katie, but I hope she managed to get away from those memories before they consumed her."

"Ms. Leigh, your life could be in danger. I think that you should be put into a protection program until the dust on this case settles," I said. She laughed.

"Mr. Jayden, I am forty-three years old, and I feel like I'm seventy," she said. "Any efforts you put into protection would only be wasted. Be it by the cancer or Desmond's hands is inconsequential; the point is that I'm dying."

She gripped my hand and looked into my eyes. Something in her tired eyes perceived a man, but what kind of man she saw I couldn't begin to fathom.

"You think too much about the years you have left, but you never really spend them living," she said. "There's something inside of you that I've seen before, something desperate. If you don't come to peace with whatever you're fighting, it'll turn into anger. When you're controlled by anger you only end up hurting the ones you love."

I folded up the papers on the bed and slipped them back into my coat pocket.

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Leigh," I said. She smiled and closed her eyes. It was almost instantaneous, the way that she fell asleep. I closed the door to her room as quietly as I possibly could.

"Listen, if either of you need anything just give me a call," I said. I handed Elizabeth my number, and she smiled halfheartedly as she pocketed the card.

The sun was setting on my drive back to the motel. Here the sun actually broke through clouds and cast the roads in gold as three shadows reached out for me slowly until the horizon had swallowed it whole.

Pulling into the motel, I parked right in front of the space between mine and Madison's room. She immediately opened the door, shielding her eyes from the headlights until I cut the engine.

"Where have you been?" I slipped out of the car and closed the door.

"My job, the reason we're here in the first place," I said.

"You were able to talk to Rachael Leigh?" She asked. "Why didn't you tell me? Or Ethan, for that matter?"

"It doesn't matter, she didn't tell me much that I didn't already know. Except now I'm certain that Desmond Casey's our guy." She looked thoughtfully down at the pavement for a moment, pacing for a few moments.

"I found his brother while you were gone," she said. This piqued my interest. Finally, something the two of us could talk about. "The really weird part is that I know him."

"You _know_ Rex Casey?" I asked. "And the name didn't actually ring a bell until now?"

"No, I don't actually _know_ him, I meant to say that I've met him," Madison said.

"Well let's go, pronto, get me the information."

"Not until I've eaten," Madison said. "Let me borrow your car, I'll go get something to eat, and _then_ we can get down to business."

"You? Borrow my car? I don't think so," I said caustically.

"Why not? I bet you'd let Ethan borrow it if he asked," she said.

I stammered. I would, if he asked, and I wouldn't even ask many questions. Touché, Madison.

"That's different, Ethan's my case partner," I said. Weak excuse, and not only did I know it but Madison knew it too, I could see it in her face. "All right, take the keys, but bring it back in one piece."

"I'll even put gas in it," she said. Now that I could agree with. I tossed her the keys and she was gone faster than lightning. Not that I could blame her, none of us had really eaten all day.

I saw Ethan's door beyond hers, and the lamp light therein. I walked along the sidewalk casually, taking my time until I was standing right at his door. Should I knock? He might not want to be disturbed. But still, I had to know if he was done with me. The way he left earlier, I wouldn't be surprised.

The door opened without a single scratch.

"Norman," Ethan said as he took me in, realizing that I was actually standing at his door.

"Yeah, I was about to knock but you beat me to it," I said.

"I was just coming to see if you were back from wherever you'd gone," he said. "Come on in."

I stepped inside. Well wasn't this peachy? His room was way bigger than mine, and I paid the same price. What the hell was up with that?

"Would you like some coffee? I've got some on the desk there," Ethan said.

"I won't be in your hair long, I just had to clear up a few things," I said. Ethan sat on the bed, and I paced as he watched me intently. What did I say? How did I begin?

"Where did you go?" He asked.

"I questioned Rachael Leigh. Desmond is definitely our guy, razors and all." He nodded thoughtfully and leaned back on his arms, kicking his legs out and crossing one over the other. I decided to go for broke and just put all of my cards on the table. "Listen,

"I understand if you want nothing to do with me or my crazy past, and addictions, and episodes. It's way too much to drop on someone in such a short time, and I understand if you're through when we get back." He didn't say anything at first. That made me nervous. Then he cocked his head with this serious expression across his brow.

"What made you think that I would be done with you once we got back?" He asked. And I could tell that this time he expected an answer.

"The way to left my room after I told you what happened earlier. I could see the ruling in your face, and when you couldn't look at me… Wouldn't look at me, I just assumed that it was over and you'd be moving on once you got home."

Ethan's blank stare turned into a frown and some sorrow came over him. "Is that what you thought? I'm sorry if that's what you've been thinking all day, that wasn't it at all."

He stood up and faced me, looking from eye to eye with sincerity. That was one thing I could count on when talking to Ethan Mars; sincerity. An air of authenticity in everything he did and said. That's why I took such a crazy risk two years ago and snuck him out of the department; I knew, just by looking at him, that he meant every word he said.

"I didn't say anything because I didn't know what I could possibly say at that moment without coming off as jackass for not understanding what you've been shouldering," he said. "You've been carrying this guilt alone, and I can't imagine what it must have been like.

"You've been helping me with my fears, and I intent to stick by you as you face yours. Even if I don't understand them, I want to help you get past them."

I'm not entirely sure what had changed in the air of the room, what had set him in a different light, but I saw Ethan in a way that I'd never seen him before. And yet it was how I'd always seen him. The man that I wanted to save and looked up to at the same time. The man whose superpower could be found in immeasurable generosity and kindness.

He wasn't a saint, he was just a man, but he was someone I could worship and help at the same time, for the rest of my life. And so the part of me that wanted hold him, to caress him, stepped forward, slowly closing the distance and keeping his eyes.

I had never been entirely certain if Ethan would've responded positively to me if I were to do this, but he didn't back away, and his intoxicating breath stayed completely calm as I brought my face closer to his, inch by inch. And he still stared into my eyes serenely as I stopped my body mere centimeters from his.

He was the one to lean in and bring our lips together. Of course he would, I thought. I smiled against him at the thought, and closed my eyes as I took in the experience of him.

His hands moved up to my neck, and his fingers slithered into the hair at the nape of my neck, massaging my scalp as he deepened the kiss. I'd grabbed his hips, feeling his belt and pants slide beneath the shirt material at my fingertips, pulling him against me and allowing him to flick his tongue past my lips.

It was incredibly enthralling, and the taste of him heady, as we stood wrapped in the warmth of one another on equal ground. He knew all of my dark, seedy secrets and demons and I knew his. Yet we were both completely willing to draw a line and protect one another from being consumed by fear.

Because he was my partner, and I was his; unquestionably, irrevocably, irretrievably his.


	9. Chapter 8: No Escape

8. NO ESCAPE

I woke up some time in the night, chilled and drench. It was the soaked pillow that woke me. My body was sweating like crazy, and cold to the bone. My shivering didn't seem to wake Ethan, but given his carefree, relaxed, straightforward approach to most things in life, my profiling nature suggested that he was the type of person who could sleep through almost anything.

To be honest I'd forgotten that I'd fallen asleep in Ethan's room. The hours before were a little blurry, I couldn't remember anything after Ethan and I laid down to talk for a while. Words spoken didn't come to me, we could've talked about anything for all that I knew. But I did remember the kisses, and the feeling of being close to him.

I looked down at my chest; my undershirt was just as sweat-drenched and cold as the pillow had been. I fumbled my way into the bathroom and flipped the lights.

No blinding blur. Then the sweats must not be residual. Maybe I was getting sick?

I walked to the bathroom sink and looked into the mirror above and checked the edges of my eyes. No redness or irritation.

But below me was a different story. There was plenty of red around the edges of the kitchen sink, blotched and sparse like a Rorschach pattern of red on white. Cradled in the center of this like a guilty demon child in its mothers embrace was a razor. Its edge was dry and crusted over with some dark stain, its handle ornamented with intricate sterling silver filigree.

I picked up the razor and held it in my hands, and to my great surprise it was still slightly warm to the touch.

Down on the floor, footsteps led to the shower. I reached for the curtain, afraid of what I might find in there. I cast the sheet aside, and found an empty shower. Water beads still crept along the tiles on the wall, gathering into micro-rivers that joined the pink pools in the bottom where blood used to be.

Feeling my body, my hair, I realized that I hadn't been sweating at all. I sniffed my skin; soap. I'd showered, and I couldn't remember it at all. I'd walked through blood and couldn't remember that, either.

I swallowed hard, and for the first time in years I felt an absolute sense of dread and fear come over me, like I was five years old and alone in the dark. But the fear wasn't for my own wellbeing, it was for the man who'd been sleeping next to me in the other room.

I struggled to get my legs to move; I didn't want to know whose blood that was, and I told myself that whatever I'd done during a residual trip I would never, ever, allow myself to hurt Ethan in any way shape or form. He was just fine, I knew it.

But part of me doubted that promise of security on what I could and couldn't control when the effects took over, and I had to see for myself that he was all right. I took another step, next to the dried print on the floor, and then another through the door. I strayed from the trail leading into the bathroom and reached for the lamp on the desk, next to the coffee machine.

Light splashed over the room and across the bed. The dark, blood prints came right from Ethan's side of the bed, where a wide, thick puddle had been spilt. It had been undisturbed for a while now.

I brought my trembling feet to step closer. I knelt beside the bed and lifted the covers from the ground to see if the blood was coming from somebody bleeding or dead beneath the bed. All I found was empty darkness. I closed my eyes and stood, still hoping against all logic that Ethan was still untouched and sleeping.

I pulled the sheets away from his body.

Blood. Everywhere. Soaked into the sheets, in the pillow, over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. A wide gash was spread from one side of his neck to the other, a clean swipe severing both major arteries. The look on his face was that of pure hell, and I knew from personal experience that bleeding to death was nothing like they portrayed it in films. It wasn't simply like 'going to sleep' as pain faded away. It was painful for me; like two white hot rods had been shoved up my arms. My hands and fingers cramped into claws, and my muscles spasmed uncontrollably with the shift in the volume of blood delivered to them.

Ethan had suffered an unclean, agonizing death. And his wide, brutally betrayed eyes staring back at me replayed the suffering of his final breath.

I shuffled back into the bathroom and sat on the toilet lid for a while, staring down at the razor blade in my hand.

I did this.

"I did this," I said. I needed to repeat it with words outside of my mind to confirm what I'd already known to be fact in my head. "I did this."

Was Ethan's death at my expense an inevitable truth? If not here and now by my own hands, then would my letting him get involved in the Barbershop Killer's work have gotten him killed? Would my involvement with him alone have put him on death's list? Whatever the outcome, it didn't matter now, not while he lay lifeless on the other side of the thin bathroom wall.

"This wouldn't have happened if you'd listened to me." I looked up into the smug smirk on my own face as He leaned against the doorframe. "I tried to warn you that you were taking things too far. Now look what you've done; you've killed the only real foundation of a loving relationship that you've _ever_ had in your hopeless life, you've taken a father from Shaun. And for what? You're no closer to finding Casey than you were days ago."

He knelt before me and lifted my chin to look into his indifferently cocky face. My eyes would burn him if they could – if I knew that it would do any good, I would take this razor to his throat. I'd slit my own throat if I could trade my life for Ethan's.

"You have to accept the fact that you're not a man anymore. You're shattered. Empty. The broken façade of a greater piece of work, now shallow and desperately clinging onto the memory of Norman Jayden. Without me, you're useless."

"Without me, _you're_ useless," I told Him. "If I'm dead, you're gone; not even dust, not even a memory, just gone."

I brought the razor to my neck.

"So you choose the coward's way out?" He asked with a sour scowl. "You're going to make Ethan's death for nothing?"

"Ethan's death was for nothing!"

"Not if you catch the killer who drove you into insanity," He said. "If you catch this guy it will give some meaning to his sacrifice. His death will become martyrdom for the greater good."

I laughed and shook my head incredulously. Martyrdom? He died because I chose to put myself into his life. He died because I tested the temperance of my demons and in turn raped Ethan of his life and blood.

"Just let me help you," He begged. "A few steps to your room and we're together, putting this sleazy scum bag behind bars for good. Hell, we can just kill him in cold blood together if that'll make you feel better. Think about it; feeling the memory of Ethan avenged as you pull the trigger and watch the life fade from the killer's face as his eyes roll to the back of his head."

I lowered the razor, and He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, rubbing and cooing to soothe me as I backed out. I was scared, I was weak, and there was no going back on what I'd done. I'd sworn a silent oath to be there for Ethan, and to protect him from any and everything the world had to throw at him. And instead, here I sat holding Brutus' dagger in my hands, with Ethan's blood still staining the razor, like a tongue salivating and reveling in the kill.

I closed my eyes and felt burning hot tears.

"Why are you sitting in the bathroom at four o'clock in the morning?" I looked up at the sound of that voice, his voice. He stood in the doorway where my own wicked face used to be, rubbing his eyes and adjusting them to the bright white light above the mirror. I was so happy that I laughed and cried at the same time. My head felt like it was splitting at all of these mind games, like my skull was inflating, growing so large and heavy that the skin was breaking along with my sanity.

"Nothing, just go back to bed," I said. I looked down; no razor. No bloody footprints.

"It doesn't look like nothing," Ethan said. He placed a hand on my forehead. "You're burning up again."

I grabbed his hand and looked up at him, forcing a smile on my face through the pain of the oncoming headache. "Just a migraine. Go back to bed and I'll be in there soon."

"All right, but if it gets any worse…"

"It won't," I said. He leaned down, grabbed the back of my head, and placed a soft, lingering kiss on my forehead. It was full of concern and made it feel a little too 'edgy,' stiff but supple. When he left me sitting there, I almost immediately stood up to follow him to make sure that he wasn't the mirage, a dream whipped up by my conscience to ease me into the guilt of his murder.

Sure enough, as I peeked around the bathroom door, I watched him crawl under the covers and settle into bed.

I washed my face with warm water and tried to shake the emotional stress out of my arms and legs. The entire illusion had left me exhausted and more than a little shaken. Most of all, it had left questions lingering inside, burning away at the edges of my welfare.

Had I just seen a possible future? Was He trying to warn me? Was the answer to keeping Ethan safe from myself really having to go back to relying on Tripto?

And that left me with one important question, one that I needed an answer to: if it came down to the choice, would I go back to submitting myself to the control of the drug, to allow Triptocaine to become my sovereign forevermore, if it was the only way to be with Ethan?

After I cut the light and felt my way to the bed, I sat down and thought for a long while before actually crawling beneath the covers. That question haunted me because, despite the fact that I knew that re-exposing myself to Tripto would hurt me, my body, my mental state of mind, and most of all Ethan, I knew that I would choose it.

I would willingly stay drugged up on it to fight any chance of harming Ethan.

His arm snaked beneath the sheets and wrapped around my body, pulling me closer to him, drawing my attention away from my thoughts, but not vanquishing them. Ethan was like an eclipse; he could block them out for now, but I could still see them burning just as brightly behind him and it wouldn't be long until he moved out of the way.

"Are you sure that you're feeling all right?" He asked. He pressed his warm body against my back as he draped his arm over me completely, affectionately, protectively. "I can run to a drugstore and get you something."

"No, I'll be fine," I said. "Just stay." Hold me like it will be the last time. Because it would be.

I blinked, and morning had already come. One minute Ethan was entangled with me and then I felt nothing there. I rolled over, glanced around, but he was gone. The only trace of him was a note left behind.

_Borrowed your car to find breakfast. Be back as soon as possible. ~ Ethan_

I stretched, feeling sore and achy from the chill that had lingered all night. I checked the bathroom again just to be certain that everything I'd seen was indeed an illusion. No blood. No razor. Just my own reflection in the mirror, which I was starting to regret seeing what with all of the bribery that face had been slinging my way.

I slipped my coat over my shoulders and stepped outside. A crisp autumn morning, cold and dry, yet moist mists weaved through the trees and tall grass around the motel. Yeah, it was going to be a fin day, wasn't it?

I spotted my car coming down the road, and couldn't help the smile on my face. Despite what was about to happen, despite the choice I'd confirmed last night many times over in my head, it still felt incredibly enriching to see Ethan coming to see me of all people; that I could be a destination in his life.

And as he pulled in with a small wave to me, standing in his doorway, I wondered just what kind of life I could have expected with him. How would Shaun see me? Would we have small arguments on the benefits of staying versus leaving and finding a new house? What kinds of things did he want in the future? Being so paternal, how soon would it be until he inevitably got a dog when Shaun had moved out on his own, or went off to college?

So many threads, so many webs, and so many possibilities. But I was the gatekeeper, keeping those roads locked forever because it was for his own good. I couldn't be trusted, of this I was well aware, so why put him through that uncertainty for another night?

He parked the car and tossed the keys in his hand like a ball as he carried a brown paper bag in the other. I watched him, carefree and happy as a Jay Bird with a swing in his hips as he whistled a tune to start the day. I saw his smile and the glow in his eyes. It was like someone had turned on the light inside of him to maximum potential today, and he shined like my own personal sun on such a dark day.

He knocked on Madison's door and handed her a wrapped when she groggily answered.

"Good morning," he said. As I expected him to, he immediately planted a kiss on my lips and stepped past me into the room. One thing I'd immediately noticed was that once he had been given the permission to be, he was really big on affection and being as close as humanly possible. I'm pretty sure that there were some shortly lived flings in his past due to his quick emotional attachments to those he'd connected to, and it was probably always misconstrued as being somewhat needy.

But he wasn't needy at all; he was vague, and sweet, and terribly naïve, but all the better for it.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted a breakfast burrito, or a breakfast sandwich, so I bought both and figured I'd eat the one that was left," he said.

"Sandwich," I said. He smirked and shook his head. "What?"

"You're predictable," he said.

As I took the wrapper from his hand, I lost the will to do it. It would be cruel to openly wound him now. I could do it once I got him home. Yeah, that would be a better time. Breakfast was fairly quiet. Ethan seemed perfectly comfortable with the silence, tossing out a joke here or there.

"So when are we heading back?" He asked.

"I'm thinking that we should hit the road in about an hour or so," I said. I crumbled the wrapper and tossed in his bin. "I'm going back to my room to shower, change, and get everything packed."

He smiled; it was so saccharine and charming. He really was like a big kid. It was probably why he and his sons had gotten along so well. I wondered if he'd ever talk about Jason with me.

"Wait, Norm," he said. I furrowed my brows.

"Did you just call me _Norm_?" I asked. Ethan stood on his knees on the bed, not quite my height but enough to look me in the face. He grabbed one hand and pulled me closer, wrapping his arms around my waist, settling against me and stared up at me, calm and relaxed. I wondered what it must have been like to live in his head, always sure and tranquil. Never any doubt or regret, no inhibitions holding him back when it came to human-social interaction.

"Did you mean what you said last night?" He asked.

I wasn't exactly big on physical affection. Something about it gave me heartburn, not literally but close enough. My stomach twisted, I got weird strains in my chest…

I wiggled away from him a little, allowing him to leave his hands on my hips but keeping some distance so I didn't feel so physically smothered. Ethan didn't seem surprised or dejected, but instead amused.

"To be honest I was so tired last night that I don't remember a thing we talked about," I said. The end of my sentence trailed a bit as I sheepishly studied his reaction. This seemed to confuse him a bit. "I slipped into an episode, and when that happens some of the details get a little foggy."

"Oh," he said.

"Did you ask or tell me anything profoundly important or deeply personal?" I asked. "I already feel like a schmuck for blanking out, please just put me out of my misery if I've forgotten something."

Ethan just smiled and let go. He didn't seem put off or annoyed or let down, but him letting go just seemed… ominous. Like the cold room literally grew colder.

_Hell, what did we talk about last night?_

I was sure that there was some way to force the memory out of its hiding place. After all, I was there, I must have contributed to the discussion, ergo I must remember something.

"Ethan, I'm sorry but I really don't know what it is you're referring to," I said. He shook his head with a dismissive smile and opened up his small bag, pulling out a shirt and pants.

"It wasn't anything important. Just go get your stuff together, I'm going to shower and change."

_Awe, c'mon,_ I wanted to say; _give me a break!_ But I stood silent as he shut the door to the bathroom.

I left Ethan's room and shuffled my way to my own. I briefly contemplated knocking on Madison's door to catch her up on our last minute decision to leave as soon as possible, until I remembered the deal Ethan and I had; she was his responsibility. Still, the prospect of getting the information she had on Rex Casey while getting a foot rub kept me standing in front of her door for a moment longer than I would have otherwise.

I unlocked my door, closing it with a yawn. I leaned my head against the cool door and tried to clearly lay out just what I'd gotten myself into, from the Barbershop Killer case to Ethan.

I heard a click, and it was not the clear clack of the door shutting.

"Where've you been all night?" I peaked over my shoulder. "Turn around slowly, and keep your hands up where I can see them."

Blake sat casually in the chair beside the large window with his 220 aimed right for my teeth. I turned slowly, calmly, hands at my side and palms facing him.

"Are you real?" I asked.

He chortled and snorted with a dubious shrug. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Real," I said. This was the last thing I'd expected in the world. I had to figure out why he was here in the first place, miles and miles away from the city with a gun pointed at me in my motel room. More important than that, though, I had to figure out whether or not he meant to do me harm.

"I'll ask you again; where have you been all night?" He asked, with a deep, savage tone.

If he was serious then that meant that he didn't know that I'd brought along Ethan and Madison. So just how did he find me if he hadn't been following us from the beginning?

"I figured I'd hit a couple of strip clubs while I was in Pittsburg," I said.

"And you stayed until the morning?" He asked skeptically.

"Hey, these joints serve steak and eggs for breakfast now, it gave me an incentive," I said. "What are you doing here, if you don't mind me asking, Lieutenant?"

"Rachael Leigh," he said. "I've been following you for days now, ever since I saw you at the bank. Followed you yesterday all the way down here and knew that you were up to something. Well I turn on the scanner in my car this morning and guess what I hear? Rachael Leigh's dead. Killed in the middle of the night. Barbershop Killer M.O.

"I talked to her daughter, and guess who was the last person to see her mother alive?" He asked. "I knew that there was something off about you, but I could never quite figure it out. Turns out you're a brutal fuck, messing up these women in ways that even I can't stomach."

He shook the gun in my direction and I flinched. As unlikely as it was for a gun to just go off on its own, the occasional accident did happen.

"You can't pin these murders on me," I said. "What's my motive? What evidence do you have to link me to these girls?"

"I don't even need to know a motive – I just need you to turn around and put your hands against the wall."

"You arresting me isn't going to solve anything Blake," I said. He didn't seem to care. "Just put the gun down."

"Look, just shut the hell up and do as I say. If you cooperate quietly I won't need to come back for your friends."

I put my hands against the wall and he walked up behind me, taking each wrist and cuffing them behind my back.

"You thought you were so fucking smart," Blake said. "But whatever you were trying to do, it's over now."

He opened the door and kept a grip on my shirt with one hand, and the gun against my back with the other. He led me across the lot, and I glanced around to see if anyone could see us now. Maybe there was someone who would report this. Then again, Blake was a very colorful individual, and unfortunately for me that color was Blue. He had the badge on his side, and no questions would be asked.

He opened the passenger side door and pushed me in. "No cage for me?"

"No, I don't want you in the back seat where I can't watch you," he said. I looked in the back seat; he'd already put all of my things inside. He had been well prepared for me. "I'll be right back. Don't you fuckin' move."

He slammed the door and headed for the clerk's office of the motel. I looked at Ethan's room, and Madison's. They weren't going to be safe for long. Blake was inevitably going to become a shadow in their lives. I'd have to warn them before he took me into the station.

He glanced over his shoulder before he stepped inside the office and ringed the clerk's bell. Once his back was finally turned to me, I tried to figure out just what I could do first.

I took a deep breath; this was going to hurt. I stretched my arms as far down as I could reach. I had to work my wrists over my ass and legs in order to use my hands in front of me. The problem there was that the length of my arms wasn't nearly long enough to be able to reach that low. But it was my only option.

I stretched, and felt the strain pulling at my clavicles as I pulled them away from the joints in my shoulders. I ignored the pain and pushed through it. I pulled my wrists as far away from each other as they could possibly go, flat, smooth steel roughly digging into my flesh.

I gave up. I couldn't do it, there was no way to get them over my legs and feet without having to dislocate my shoulders. I glanced over, Blake was still talking to the clerk and occasionally pointing out to the squad car. Probably explaining that I was a dangerous killer and he needed my credit card and information before we headed back to the station.

I leaned back in the seat and kicked the glove compartment, again and again until it fell open like a slacked jaw. Nothing to use; a gun, small caliber pistol, useless in this situation. But there was a particularly interesting item, a polished trinket of beauty that practically glowed in the overcast, misty light from outside. The light above it in the glove compartment illuminated all shadows of doubt as I stared.

A sterling silver razor that matched the blade used in the Allison Harper video.

Blake must have known Desmond Casey, or was working with him. Or, and this was something I hadn't even fathomed, Carter Blake was Desmond Casey.

I looked up and noticed him halfway between the office and the car. I kicked the glove compartment with my knee so it closed and settled in the seat until Blake opened the door and slipped into the driver's seat.

"Ready for a road trip?" He asked with a small snicker in tail. He started the car and pulled out with a wide arc, pulling out into the road.

I had to find some way to fight Blake's accusations when I got back to the station. I couldn't count on Ash, he'd made it clear what he would do if I was caught.

"What the hell did you think you were doing, huh?" Blake asked as he sped the car. He certainly seemed in a hurry. "You know what, never mind – I don't even want to know. It doesn't matter how you found out or why you did it, I'm taking care of the problem now."

"Is that why you killed Rachael Leigh?" I asked. "Taking care of your problems? One by one until there was no one to remember?"

"Is that what you were planning on telling people? That I took them out one by one to erase the past?" He laughed. He turned onto a side road with a quick serve.

"This isn't the way back to the city, Blake," I said. Trees began speeding by, and the road narrowed. "Aren't you taking me in?

"We're not going back to the station, I'm not willing to look at your mug that long," he said. "No, I've got other plans for you, _Nahman_."

Other plans. That most certainly meant that he was probably planning on killing me. The game had changed. I didn't want to kill Blake, I wanted him to face a jury for his crimes against those women. But it looked like I was going to have to fight to survive this.

We drove down these small roads as they changed, until the pavement ended and we drove on dirt. Through the trees I could see a large body of water. We passed an old wooden sky blue sign with chipped letters; Crooked Creek Lake.

Blake parked the car along the road, and cut the engine. "We walk from here."

He got out of the car and casually walked around the hood, opening my door and roughly pulling me out by my arm and throwing me on the ground, into the mud and fertile soil. I got to my feet and tried running; it was stupid, I know. I didn't have anywhere to go out here.

Blake fired one shot into a tree trunk beside me, and I froze.

"I don't want to shoot you, Jayden, but I will." He grabbed my shirt by the collar and shoved me further into the trees.

Not far in, they dispersed and revealed a bank, where a motorboat waited idly. On the sandy shore was a pine box, large enough for a man. I was guessing that I was going inside. Yards of chain lied in coils nearby.

"Get in the box," he said. Yep, predictable.

I head-butted Blake's snarky grin and kicked his hand, hoping to hit the gun, but he didn't lose his grip. I tackled him to the ground and bashed his face in again, but without arms there was only so much I could do. He wrapped an arm around my neck and got me into a firm headlock, pointing the gun right into my face.

"One more time and I blow your brains across this beach," he said. I stopped struggling and kept calm and still. He placed the barrel of the 220 against my forehead. "You're going to die today, and that's that. I've had enough of your shit in my life – your notes, your tape, the girls, I've had it.

"Now you've got two options, Jayden. You can get in that box and survive for a little while longer, maybe longer than a few hours if you're lucky. Or I can knock back this hammer and end it all now. Personally I want you to suffer, but I'll be just as happy to pull the trigger. Do you understand your options, cowboy?"

He let go of my head and stood up, gun still staring me down. I sat there, looking between the handgun and the pine box and chains. I looked out at the lake water, rolling up to the shore like ocean waves.

I nodded toward the box.

"That is a wise decision, my friend," he said. I laughed at his particular choice of words.

He hauled me to my feet and I sat down in the box, laying down over my hands and arms behind my back. The cuffs dug into my hip, but I ignored the pain as Blake placed the lid on the box.

The pounds of nails being driven into the box painfully shocked my ears like I was standing right next to the source of all thunder. After the box had been sealed, I felt the entire thing shift, and heard chains slap against the outside. He rolled and rolled me inside as he wrapped chain after chain around my tomb. It looked like there was no way to push the lid away from the box if I'd managed to kick it free. The chains would sink me like a rock because they were so heavy, and hold the lid in place.

The box was dragged to the edge of the beach and I heard water lapping against it. The boat engine started, and after a moment the box was roughly jerked back, digging a splinter into my back. The box kept bouncing and jerking as it was pulled by the motorboat like an tube, skidding across the water as he drove me out into the lake.

And then the boat slowed down. And I heard the sounds of clapping waves muffle as the box became smothered by the tides.

I felt the box sinking; it almost felt like floating. Something about the silence and pure, impenetrable darkness was peaceful.

No Blake. No case. No murders, or victims. Just me in my tomb, settling into my watery grave.


	10. Chapter 9: Asphyxia

9. Asphyxia

Darkness. Total, unyielding, unforgiving blackness at the bottom of a cold lake. The air in this box would give me an hour, maybe two. Part of me wished that I would have taken the bullet. Even if it was only Blake, I wouldn't have died alone.

No one would ever find me here. I couldn't count on a rescue. So here I was, facing my last moments, my last breaths, my last thoughts.

Blake wasn't making a lick of sense. It seemed like he knew that I knew that he was involved in these murders somehow. But at the same time, he seemed scared of me. Guess that wasn't so outlandish; if I thought someone had evidence enough to convict me in the murders of five women, with one missing.

Was Carter Blake the alias of Desmond Casey? Had he been living a double life for over twenty years?

Something in my gut said yes, definitely. But it didn't really matter now, not in the cold, indifferent darkness of my grave. I didn't want to waste my last moments thinking about Blake.

My mom. I wondered how she was doing lately? Did she still have the house? I hoped that she was able to save it. I hoped that she was still smiling and laughing. I hoped that she'd been able to take that trip to Italy like she wanted to do when Pop was alive. I hoped that she was happy. I hoped that she was somewhat proud of me, despite our differences.

Ethan. I wished that I was more like him when it came to bravery and being honest with myself. If I was, I probably wouldn't have left things the way they were. I would have savored every time Ethan tried to show me some kind of sign that he cared. I wouldn't live in so many shadows of doubt and would've just lived life in the moment. If I was half of the man Ethan Mars was, I would've been able to love him as much as he deserved to be loved.

I would've made him and Shaun breakfast every morning. I would've surprised him with the house he'd wanted but knew that he couldn't afford. I would've tried to learn as much about life and love from his example, and try to top it to make him feel as appreciated as possible. I would've worked harder than anything else in my life to make sure that by the end he'd never have to doubt how he felt about our life together.

I'd thought a lot about my death growing up. I'd always had this feeling breathing down my neck, just something that lingered, telling me that I would die early. I never imagined how or when, that didn't matter as long as I'd lived an uncompromising life as myself and never pretending to be anyone else. Even if I didn't hold myself in high esteem after failing myself and abusing my addictions, I'd never pretended to be anyone but myself. I'd only had one prayer, one wish that I'd asked for; I never wanted to die alone.

But here I was, completely alone and isolated. No one to reach for with my hands tied behind my back. No face to see in the dark. No heart to feel in the bottom of the waves. I could try to kill it all away, but here alone I had no choice but to remember everything; my regrets, partners who'd been shot down, my legacy of nothing, and what I'd become in the end.

And what had I become? A shattered reflection of a man. An empty visage of a human being who used to be whole, but now lived in a crushed façade of reality and my mind, blended into one and indistinguishable from one another.

If I could start again, I'd be a better man. As it was, I lay broken and fragmented in a bed of thorns, strewn about by my own hands. I used to blame my demon for being so shattered, for laying out this ending. But the truth was that I had done this to myself. My self doubt, my low self worth, had woven this quilt of failure. And even realizing all of this, I had no will to fight for survival. I had no will left to fight for life. I had no desire, whatsoever, to fight for myself.

I was just too tired to keep fighting for a lost cause. I was tired of Norman Jayden.

I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes, until I felt something in my pocket jab me in my thigh. It was something jagged, hard and obdurate. It felt like a key.

And when I felt the key, I saw Ethan's face in the darkness laying next to me. My pine box had become a bed for two, and Ethan's smile lit up the room we shared.

"Were you serious when you told me that you'd never asked anyone on a date?" He asked. His face was so genuinely intrigued, his curiosity piqued with total excitement. I couldn't help but laugh.

"I was completely serious." I said. He laced his fingers into mine and squeezed firmly with some smile of adoration in his eyes instead of the pity or mockery I'd been expecting. "I'm not the suave guy who makes the first move. I'm too aware of what others think of me. Spending so much time in the heads of others, you tend to know how people will react."

"But you've spent your entire career in the dark places of people's thoughts. Serial killers, criminals, they can't compare to your future partner," he said. And there was the wisdom that hid sheltered inside of that childish personality. I wondered how these two traits had survived in that head of his. "You need to start spending your life in the heads of good people, people who care about you."

"That list is shorter than you'd think," I said.

"It only takes a few good people to stand by your side to tear down an empire of dark thoughts," he said.

"Even that takes time." It would take too much time and energy to clear enough room in my head to build a life on. More than anyone would want to spend. People didn't want baggage, they wanted an easy beginning and a roller coaster ride to the end.

"What made me the exception to you never making the first move?" He asked.

"Something Rachael Leigh said made me realize that I was just wasting my life away every moment I didn't say or do anything to let you know how I felt. And you rejecting me couldn't possibly be worse than a lifetime of watching you while standing silent." Ethan smiled and looked down at our hands.

"And you're sure?" He asked. "You do realize that I'm not the easiest person to get along with."

I laughed. "I've never been so sure about anything. I'm done trying to keep my distance, I'm done being the cautious one, I'm ready to just dive into everything with both feet. I want to jump in with you, Ethan, I want to experience life to its fullest scope with you."

That seemed to excite him, and he let go of my hand and rolled off of the bed. I sat up quizzically as he dug into his bag. He jumped back onto the bed and crawled up to me, looking me in the eyes on his hands and knees.

"I wanted to give you this just so you could come and go as you pleased while you were in town," he said. He held up a small house key, attached to a dangling keychain. The keychain was hokey, of course, some ridiculously goofy cartoon cat or mouse or something. But the key itself, it was something entirely different.

"I was glad that you used the term 'jump in with both feet' because I want you to move in," he said.

That took the words right out of my mouth. It took quite a few moments of silence for me to gather anything to say, and Ethan waited patiently.

"Don't you think that's a pretty big step?" I asked. "I mean, we don't really know each other that well…"

"We will," he said. "Think of it; you won't have to spend forever looking for somewhere to live, and I don't live far from the city."

"Why are you in such a hurry?" I asked. Looking back on this conversation, I could see myself like watching a film, and I could see the doubt and fear that Ethan had to persistently push through to reach me. I couldn't believe that he was still smiling affectionately.

"It's not like I haven't given it any thought," he said. He sat down on the edge of the bed beside me and leaned in close. "Before you came back into my life I was just living day to day, trying to keep Shaun happy and safe. But I wasn't helping him. I don't have that power, at least not alone. But when we're together it's like the pieces of what's left of me fit into you like a jigsaw puzzle, and I feel like a whole person again.

"You're so good, and you don't give yourself nearly enough credit," Ethan said. He placed the key in my palm and curled my fingers around it. "You don't have to decide now, just think about it. The choice is completely yours. But I want you to know that no matter what you choose I'm not going to give up on you. My mind's made up, I'm sure."

How great it must be to know one's feelings well enough to be so sure about everything. Looking up into his sincere eyes, I must have caught his Crazy.

"All right," I said. "I'll move in."

I did say that I didn't want to waste any more time than I had to, and if I was as sure about Ethan to want to be with him then I may as well meet him at every goal. He was so ecstatic, and I felt some warmth well up from inside.

As I was pulled back into the darkness of my chained coffin, that warmth remained. The key was in my pocket. A key to a new life, a happier life. A key of change, of worth, and to Ethan's heart.

I could let myself down before Ethan came along, and I could just lay here and die in my regrets. But Ethan had planted something inside of me, some piece of that inextinguishable hope and perseverance that shined through his eyes like the sun. Only now did I realize that Ethan was right all along. When we were apart, we were feeble men who'd been left in pieces , abandoned to grasp futilely for the missing limbs that had been pulled from us like wings from a fly.

But together we were unstoppable, we were whole again. Together we were something I couldn't have imagined, ten times stronger than I'd ever been.

I gripped my thumb on my left hand and trailed my fingers down to where it grew from the base of my palm. I took a steady breath and thought of Ethan in an attempt to dull the pain to come.

I jerked as hard as I could, and literally heard the pop as fire seized my entire left arm. The bone had broken, and the joint now empty. I screamed since I had nothing to bite down on. I would have cried and given up right then after that jolt of pain infiltrated my mind. There was no way that I could subject my body to anything else after that. But I had to for Ethan.

I pulled as hard as I could against the handcuffs, the pain of my broken hand burning like a flare in the darkness. It hurt worse than anything I'd felt, but I kept pulling. When I thought that I was going to black out from the tender sting, my arm jerked back and hit the chain-clad pine as my left arm was freed from its bind.

I cradled my hand against my chest and cried and laughed at the same time. I twisted my body, shifted my hips and reached into my right pocket, feeling the key. It was the only real thing I could feel here. Ethan was here with me after all. He'd saved my life, more than he knew.

I felt the lid above me. If I pounded and released the lid, the chains would stop it from being removed, but water would rush in and drown me as I was locked in here. But I couldn't give up, I had a different plan.

I placed my right hand on the square above my head and braced my frame as much as I could. I brought my legs up as much as I could, bent as far as they could in the confines around me, and thrust down. I kicked down again, and heard a splintering crack. I felt a small spurt of icy water as the crack fissured. I kicked again, and more water began flowing. One more kick and the bottom splintered apart. I kept kicking and kicking as the crushing weight of the water rushed inside and swallowed up the air around me. The cold black water made my muscles want to lock up but I kept kicking at the thought of Ethan, gathering my last breath at the last second before water buried me in the box.

The end was open. I wriggled out as best as I could with such a tight space, and slowly released water from my nose to keep the water out of my sinuses.

I was free. I kicked up from the soggy, muddy bed of the lake and kicked for the surface as fast as I could. When I'd sunk in the box, it felt fairly shallow for a large bed of water. But swimming upward now, it seemed like a much longer trip.

I was out of air now, but not out of determination. I kept a grip of his key in my right hand and kept kicking and kicking for the top.

My fist broke the surface of the lake, followed by my head as I emerged into the rain. I took the first real breath of my life and swallowed the cleansing rainwater with it gratefully. And a light pierced my eyes, greater than the sky around me. A hand reached out for mine and I was pulled up out of the water by some angel of mercy.

"I've got you, sir," the angel said. I opened my eyes and looked upon his face; dark skin and black eyes, and wearing a plastic-covered police cap. "You're going to be all right."

"Ethan," I said, still gasping for air. It was the only word I knew, and until I saw him again I wouldn't be able to speak another word of English in my life.

A coat was wrapped around me and another officer took my darkly bruising hand into his, examining the tender flesh. "It looks like we have an injury, too."

"Let's get him to shore, the others can fish out the evidence," the black angel said. I looked around once I'd gained the sense to realize that I was really out of that box. I was on a police boat, with three cops, not angels at all.

The boat sped along the water, and I stared back at the spot where I'd just emerge, the place of my new birth; clad in fresh skin and dark doubts shed away. The shore grew closer, and I saw flashing lights and a busy buzz of more officers and ambulance EMT's. Among them I saw once man standing among them, staring back at me as the motorboat speed with haste.

I saw his worried face, his nervous and apprehensive eyes set in anxiety. I never wanted to see him look like that again, and I would devote my new life to ensuring that. As the boat pulled up to the shore and beached itself, the officer who'd pulled me out of the water helped me step down onto the sandy shore. Wet sand clumped between the toes of my right foot, and I briefly wondered where I'd lost my shoe, but didn't care as I saw Ethan waiting for me on the beach.

He rushed up to me and even though rain streaked his face, I could tell that he'd been crying. Before, the thought of a tear shed over me would've been a mystery, a baffling concept, but in that darkness I'd realized just how Ethan really felt. Not only could I remember his words, but I could somehow feel them in my chest like seedlings taking root.

"I thought you were dead," he said.

"I remember," I said.

"What?" He asked, totally bewildered and lost. I held up the key, clutched firmly in my fingers.

"I remember," I said. A smile slowly spread across his face, and he stepped forward, arms outreached. But instead of embracing me like I thought he would, he paused, and then lowered his arms as his smile lost some of its enthusiasm. What are you doing?"

"I know you're not big on being touched, especially in front of a lot of people. I remember how you felt about what happened at the shopping center, and I don't want to do anything to mess up again, or upset you," he said in a low voice. He looked around at all of the officers and EMT's standing by, waiting for us to finish our little reunion. "I don't want to lose you."

"I don't care," I said. I stepped toward him and grabbed the back of his head, pulling his lips to mine with a burning urgency that I'd never felt before. I didn't care who was watching or what they'd think, I didn't care about being seen or touched in public. I only cared about making Ethan happy and acting on those inclinations.

I crushed my lips to his, and it wasn't at all romantic or comfortable. It was just what I needed at that time, and I didn't feel any objections from Ethan. I let go and looked up into his sincere eyes as they warmly smiled, and he pulled me into an embrace. Broken thoughts were repaired when he held me, and tiny fractures were mended. I knew without a doubt just how he felt because I could feel it myself.

"Mr. Jayden," I heard a voice outside of our sanctuary. I glanced over at the young EMT as he awkwardly shifted from foot to foot. "Are you badly injured?"

I held up my left hand. That was going to hurt for quite some time, oh boy was it going to hurt. Not to mention I would now only have one useable hand. But now I had enough evidence to start a manhunt for Blake, or Casey. Once I told the cops the whole story, they'd have no choice but to question and search him. They'd find the razor, they'd find the evidence, and justice would follow through.

As much as I would love to be there when the police took him down, I wanted to take him down first. Now I had a race to get to him before they could. Before now I would've been just fine with letting him rot in prison, but now I had a personal stake in this.

I wanted my revenge, and I wanted him dead at my hands.


	11. Chapter 10: High Tension

10. HIGH TENSION

I sat in the Pittsburg Police Department, damp and cold just outside of the office of one detective Horvath. Ethan sat next to me, hand firmly clutched to my right as I kept my bandaged and broken left hand close to my chest. Madison paced the hall in silence. She hadn't asked about the apparently sudden affection between me and Ethan. She hadn't even asked about the details of what happened at the lake. It almost seemed like she was actually concerned over my wellbeing as opposed to just fishing out a story.

Maybe she did. Maybe that's what Ethan saw that I didn't want to beyond her journalism. Maybe Madison Paige wasn't so bad after all.

"Mr. Jayden, telephone," said the young man behind the desk across from us. He held up the receiver and I rose from my seat beside Ethan and leaned on the counter, taking the phone from his hand with an appreciative nod.

"This is Norman," I said.

"Jayden, it's Lieutenant Ash." Finally, someone who could give me an update on what was happening back in town. "I heard about what happen. Are you all right?"

"Never better," I said. My thumb twitched beneath the bandage, testing the level of pain. I winced; wouldn't be doing that again. "What's the situation on Blake? Is he being held for questioning?"

"Carter seems to have vanished completely, none of our patrol units have spotted him anywhere between here and Pittsburg," he said.

Of course. It figures he would. But I wasn't without optimism; I would find him and I knew exactly how our next conversation would end.

"Did Carter say or hint to anything about where he would be heading?" He asked.

"He was sure to keep our farewell brief," I said sardonically.

"Well when you get back I want you to come and see me at the department. I've asked that everyone keep mum about what's said over the CB scanner. Should Carter learn that you survived…"

"Maybe that's just what we need to draw him out," I said. "We'll be driving back soon enough, I'll talk to you then."

I hung up before Ash could ask any further questions.

"Are you sure that you want to head back so soon?" Ethan asked. "Don't you want to rest up? Maybe stay another night at the motel, gather your thoughts?"

"I can rest on the drive back," I said. I didn't have time to waste another night here, I had to find Blake.

Madison drove my car as I stretched out in the back seat. The sound of the rain against the windows was just enough to lull me to sleep as I rocked like a babe in the back, but I didn't want to close my eyes. I had this irrational fear that in doing so I would lose Ethan, like he'd just vanish while I slept. He kept glancing at me, and I kept smiling back every time that he did. He was just so concerned – all the time, about everything. Guess that came with being a father. Considering what happened to Jason, I could understand how he'd be a little paranoid about loved ones in distress.

"Do you have a plan yet?" Madison asked.

"Yeah; we take Ethan home and then I go see this Rex Casey guy and find out where his brother is."

"Take me home?" Ethan asked skeptically; he wasn't too keen on the plan. "I'm not going home while you go out and track him down."

"Shaun is coming home tomorrow. You need sleep and he needs you in one piece." I saw a dozen arguments already formulated behind his eyes, already dead set on coming with me. "Ethan, this is one of those instances when you just need to listen to me."

He didn't say anything to me after that, not even when Madison parked my car and we all stretched our legs. I knew that his silence wasn't in anger, it was just the only way that he could respect my wishes. Anything that came out of his mouth would only be argumentative and counterproductive when he knew that I was dead set on this decision.

I followed Ethan inside of the house while he and Madison said their goodbyes, promising to keep in close contact over the next few days while this entire Barbershop Killer business was underway. She gave me the pages of research she'd printed up, the only pages of which I was interested in were the whereabouts of April May June, who was now Mrs. April May Habshack, and Mr. Rex Casey. After Madison left I heard her motorcycle speed off into the darkness.

After Ethan closed the door he brushed by me without a word and wandered into his kitchen.

"Are you not speaking to me at all now?" I asked.

"What's there to say? It's not going to make a difference, you're going on your own," he said. He opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of beer, popping the cap off into the garbage can and settling down at the kitchen table.

All right, maybe his silence had come with a little anger.

"Do you mind explaining to me why I'm staring down the bad end of a shit-storm when I haven't done anything wrong?" I asked. I sat across from him and put my hands together on the table, staring as he took a swig from the bottle. He chose to remain silent. "Ethan, just look at it from my point of view; things have just gotten tremendously dangerous. A man tried to kill me today and almost succeeded. I'm going after a killer tonight and if you're with me you'll be just as much a target as I will be."

Ethan huffed and stared at the counter. "Just trust in me, Ethan. That's all I'm asking."

"I do trust you," he said. "Have you thought about how I might feel about this?"

"I know that you want to go, but believe me when I say that you aren't going to want to do what I'm doing."

"You're stuck on the idea that I want to go for me," he said with a mordant smirk. "Has it occurred to you that it might be about more than me just wanting to 'tag along'? Maybe you just don't want to countenance the thought of someone caring about you, but I do.

"When I saw you in the squad car form my window, and Blake walking out of the lobby, something told me that you were in trouble, and I followed you. When he cut the rope and you went beneath the surface of the water I thought that you were dead. I called the police, and they came with a full cavalry, but I had no hope that they'd find you in time, considering the size of the lake.

"But a miracle happened, and you came up. Chances like that don't happen twice in one day, you're going to get yourself killed if you go tonight."

Ah, so it wasn't about him going at all; it was about me staying. He gently wrapped his fingers around my right hand and held my warm palm in his cool touch. Looking into his eyes, it was as though this was the first moment that I'd realized that we'd somehow progressed into 'Us.' I wasn't thinking for me, I had his thoughts and feelings to consult. My life wasn't just mine to risk anymore; he owned as much of it as I did because I'd promised it to him.

"Just give me one night. Just stay here, stay home." Something about the way he'd said _home_ resonated inside of me. I hadn't had a 'home' in the conventional sense of the word since I'd moved out of my parents' house. I'd always traveling. "Tomorrow you can go out and be the hero you are, but tonight be human. Please."

I gripped his hands in my palm and held his eyes. "I'll stay."

I wanted Blake. Oh, I wanted him like an alligator wants the chubby like on the swamp tour boat. I wanted him found, I wanted him dead, and more than that I wanted to be the one to find and deal with him. But I wanted Ethan's approval, confidence, trust, and happiness more than all of that. If this was what I needed to do to keep him happy then one night wouldn't kill me.

Showered and relaxed, tangled in one another in his warm, lush blankets on his ample bed, I couldn't seem to get enough of him. I just needed to be close to him, to feel him, to touch and talk, to hear him laugh. I'd never realized, in the span of my life, that as a man I'd needed intimacy in my life to feel _alive_. Being honest, open, exposed and free with Ethan was like air. Before my lake experience oxygen breathed life into me; now it was Ethan. So in a very odd way I sort of owed Blake a pardon.

Sort of.

Running my fingers through his hair as his head rested on my stomach, I stared at the ceiling in wonder of the one subject we hadn't covered since we'd irrevocably fallen into one another. And that element was without a doubt the most important piece to what made Ethan who he was, so I had to ask:

"What are you going to tell Shaun?" He fell so silent and still and I wasn't sure if he was still awake. But he ran fingers along the contours of my torso as he thought about my question and what it entailed.

"I don't know," he said.

"Am I going to be 'the roommate' until you figure that out?" I was joking, but his silence didn't exactly reassure me on that point.

"It's a delicate subject, and he's in dark places right now. A drastic change is probably the last thing he needs." Ethan's answer wasn't exactly lifting my spirits from the lack of response in my prior joke, but he was exactly right. Shaun was twelve, he'd probably never even fathomed the thought of seeing his father with another person instead of his mother; especially another _man_. It would be an entirely new life to expose him to.

Ethan lifted his body and leaned over me, staring down with some deep deliberation leaving its impression upon his features. "Would you think less of me if I put off telling him for a while?"

His eyes were so sincere, so innocently eager for my answer, that I knew that he valued my opinion far more than he probably should. Still, I smiled for his sake and planted a kiss on his dopey, worried lips.

"Never," I said. "You take your time with him, we'll figure it out together."

"We," he said with an amused smirk. "I haven't been a part of _that_ in years."

"Well then you can take the baby steps with me because it's all new to me." He settled down and curled into me, and it wasn't long after that I'd heard light snores.

I hadn't actually thought much of the gravity I'd hold in Shaun's life. It was such a critical time in his growth, crawling out of childhood and learning the fundamentals of being a man. Given his social life and the scars left behind in the Origami Killer's wake, I wasn't exactly sure how my presence would impact his life. The more I thought about it, the more I second guessed my own nature and quality as a male role model. And the more I berated those two cornerstones, the more worried I got.

Shit; I was going to be constantly watched and observed by Ethan's kid, and any one wrong word or action could leave an everlasting impression on his character.

That's when I really began to panic.

The next morning I woke up to the sound of birds. What's more, I woke up to sunlight of all things. The air was still chilly, but the sky was clear and the air filled with the aroma of wet leafs and bracken-filled soil. Ethan was downstairs cooking eggs, just as lighthearted as ever, getting ready to go pick up Shaun from his mother's.

Ethan started talking about upcoming plans he and Shaun had together, but my attention was on the pages Madison had printed up. She'd managed to locate the only survivor left on the list, April. But first I wanted to have a talk with Rex Casey, particularly because Madison was right to be spooked about the coincidence in acquaintanceship; even I knew Rex Casey.

Dark hair, thickly framed glasses, pasty skin, and a short upper-lip. I could practically hear his nasally voice as I stared at his picture. Rex Casey, motel clerk. I'd been dealing with him when I got back to town, stayed there when that video popped up on my doorstep.

"Earth to Norman." Ethan slipped his fingers over the top of the profiles and lowered them until I was staring at his bemuses little smile. I took a deep breath and sat the papers down.

"You have my full attention," I said.

"I was asking if you'd like to come shopping with Shaun and I for his Halloween costume. It'd be a good opportunity for you and Shaun to talk and start getting to know each other. Build some familiarity and trust between you two."

"Oh, sure," I said, fighting back the dismal anxiety. The thought of it twisted my stomach as I remembered all that I'd realized last night. It lingered in the back of my head from the moment I turned on the shower faucet to the last loop of my shoe laces.

It wasn't that I didn't want to spend time with the kid, I just didn't want to mess up. If I didn't make a great first impression, then it was all downhill from there.

Pulling into the Crossroads Motel lot, I shook my distractions and focused on my mission. Rex Casey would most likely know where his brother was, and may have been involved in the murders. I stepped into the lobby and the clerk looked up with some odd mixture of snide intrigue.

"What can I do you for?" He asked monotonously. His nasally voice sent more cringes through my body than listening to Fran Drescher.

"Are you Warren Casey?" I asked. He flicked his name tag with a smirk.

"Congratulations, you can read," he said. I had a smirk of my own as I pulled out my wallet and slapped my phony FBI badge onto the desk.

"Would you happen to go by Rex?" I asked. He stared down at the badge with that same, indifferent smirk and shrugged.

"Some people call me that, yeah," he said casually.

"People like Allison Harper? Denise Juneau? Lauryn Whitaker? Jessica Greene? Monica Deveraux?"

"Sorry, don't know 'em," he said.

"How about Desmond? Does that name ring a bell?" I asked.

His cocky grin became a scornful sneer, and he pushed his glasses up his nose. His eyes had changed; carnal and serious. Now we were getting somewhere.

"What do you want?" He asked.

"Just a few questions answered." He sat down behind the desk and stared up at me with some dark contempt looming between us. I ignored it and pressed on. "Are you aware of your brother's whereabouts?"

"No," he said. It was quick enough, and the hate in his voice hinted at bad blood between them. Maybe he wasn't involved in Desmond's inhuman escapades after all.

"When was the last time you've spoken to Desmond?"

"A couple of months ago," he said. "My brother and I don't exactly see eye to eye, and haven't for years."

"Are you aware that he may be the Barbershop Killer?" I asked. Rex looked down at his shoes and shook his head, not to answer but in thought. He was laughing and frowning simultaneously, like the morbidity was funny but humorless.

"I'd had my suspicions, but… I guess I didn't want to think about it until you brought it to my doorstep," he said. He looked up and studied my features for a moment. "I figured it must have been him when the names in the news reports started jogging memories. And the murder weapon of choice; a straight razor. I know the ones he's using. Before our parents died, my father gave him a pair of one-of-a-kind 1925 sterling silver Chivasse razors, passed down from his father."

"If you suspected your brother of being the killer, why didn't you take that information to the police?"

"Do you have siblings?" He asked. I shook my head. "He may be twisted, but he's still my brother. And although I don't condone his actions, I can't condemn his choices. It's unconditional love, Mr. Jayden, something you wouldn't understand."

"Do you know of any hiding places that your brother might go in an emergency? A particular place that he feels safe?"

Rex shook his head and shrugged. "We haven't been on terms of intimate disclosure for the better part of a decade."

I groaned. I could tell that his guy was no killer, and I'd gotten no information from him other than the type of razor used. That wasn't exactly going to help me find him.

"One more question; does the name Carter Blake sound familiar?" I asked.

"It's my brother's legal name," he said. "About twenty years ago my brother had his name legally changed. He's a cop now, or a detective, or something."

"Rex, you've been holding out on me," I said.

"No, you just hadn't been asking the right questions," he said. And to an extent that was true, I'd only told him to answer some questions and he was only answering what I'd asked.

"Fair enough, thank you for your time," I said. I slipped my card on his desk. "If your brother contacts you then I want to know about it."

I flipped my coat collar up to keep the wind off my back and headed for the door. "Mr. Jayden, wait."

He grabbed a post-it note and scribbled something down. "If you want a place to start looking, you can ask her."

He handed me the note, and on that note was an address. _April Habshack, 5865 Longhurst Drive._

"How do you know April?" I asked.

"She was my best friend growing up, and then she dated my brother," he said. At the very thought of Desmond his mood turned black again.

"You don't seem to hold your brother in high esteem," I said.

"You don't know him. He's not exactly easy to get along with," Rex said. He balled his fists in the desk and stared down at them. "There's just something… wrong about him. He's got a mind like a barbed fence; sharp and twisted. Everything he touches turns to ash. He has this way of getting inside of peoples' heads and turning them black – good people gone spoiled. If you stay around him for too long he starts to drag you down into his rage. I just couldn't take it anymore, so I stopped contacting him."

Sounded like Blake all right. The guy was fury incarnate.

I left Rex Casey's office with some new hope on the lead. April had dated Desmond Casey, and was still friends with Rex. Maybe she would know a little more about Desmond's whereabouts than his brother did.

But glancing down at my watch, I had an appointment to make. And this one was worth putting Blake out of mind for at least an hour.

I pulled out my phone and dialed the last number called. "Ethan, do you have Shaun yet? Great, I want you both to meet me at the shopping center in half-an-hour."

Half an hour later I was standing next to a very agitated Ethan Mars as me, him, and Shaun faced the crowds.

"Why are we here?" He asked.

"You invited me to go shopping for Shaun's Halloween costume. This place is bound to have suitable stores," I said.

"There are other stores, less crowded stores," Ethan snapped.

"We have an appointment, that was the deal."

He took my reminder sourly. He leaned in close to my ear so that Shaun wouldn't hear. "I don't want to do this in front of my son, Norman."

When he stepped back, he gave Shaun a reassuring smile and then went back to glaring at me. This time it was my turn to lean in close.

"Shaun needs to see his hero fighting demons. He needs to see his father facing his fears so that it gives him hope to face his." I pulled away with a mocking smile, and Ethan's sullen death stare was just as present as ever. "Look, you have our support. Just put on a brave face for Shaun's sake."

And just as I had expected from the man who never ceased to impress me, Ethan smiled and gripped Shaun's hand firmly. "Ready to go pick out a costume, kiddo?"

Shaun was enthusiastic enough about it, and immediately began dragging Ethan through the crowd to get to the stores he wanted to find first. I stayed behind and watched. Ethan didn't need me for this trip, he was in the safety of his son's support. His role as a father, Shaun's protector and guardian, would override his fears to make sure that his child was safe. And though Ethan stumbled nervously, he kept smiling as determinedly as his hold on his hand.

I slipped out of the entrance. Ethan would probably wonder why I'd left, but I could talk to him later. Right now I had a little drive to Longhurst Lane, and I'd arrived a lot sooner than I'd expected to. It wasn't very far from Ethan's house.

I locked the car, rubbed my hands together against the cold breeze and walked up to the front door of the ranch-style house. I heard the deadbolt unlock, and the door cracked as two grey eyes peaked up at me from above the chain.

"Are you April Habshack?" I asked.

"Yes, who are you?"

I smiled to seem friendly, but mostly out of the humorous notion that I was getting a lot of mileage out of this fake badge. I wondered how many other people had been successful in using one to their advantage. She closed the door and unchained it, stepping aside to invite me in.

"Thanks, ma'am," I said.

"Can I take your coat?" She asked.

"No, thanks, I prefer to keep it on," I said. She led me to her couch and sat next to me, picking up her cup of coffee and turning off her TV.

"What can I do for you?" She asked. I was impressed; it was nice to deal with a normal, undamaged, balanced human being with no reservations and a healthy sense of manners.

"I'm investigating the Barbershop Killer, and I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"What would I know about the Barbershop Killer?" She asked.

"Well I don't know if you've been keeping up with the case, but all of the women who have been killed grew up with you in St. Christian's Orphanage. And the man responsible for their deaths was an ex-fling of yours."

"Desmond," she said. She sat her cup down and wrapped her arms around her frame, closing her eyes as she immediately traveled somewhere cold and unforgiving; some place she didn't want to be.

"Do you know where he is?" I asked.

"No, but I know where he'll be by tonight," she said. "He called me, and wanted me to meet him at the abandoned orphanage's building."

"Were you planning on going?" I asked. She meshed her lips, like moving balm around their tender surface, and took a deep breath.

"Yes," she said.

"Why would you go and meet someone whom you know to be a serial killer?" I asked. "Are you involved in the murders?"

"No, oh god, no!" She fervently shook her head and swept her bangs out of her face. "I may have done some horrible things, Mr. Jayden, but I'm not a killer, and I didn't have anything to do with the deaths of those women."

"Then why would he call you?"

"It's about the tape," I said.

"The tape?" I asked. "The tape about Allison Harper?"

She nodded solemnly, and looked into my eyes with a force so powerfully remorseful that it was almost crippling. "It all started with that tape."


	12. Chapter 11: The Kill

AN: Sorry for the delay on updates, I know that they were daily but I had deadlines to meet of my own and the third book in my own series was just published in April, and now I have work to do for a novella to be included in the omnibus edition - basically life has just been hectic. BUT I'm picking this back up, and we're almost done :)

11. THE KILL

"It was so long ago that it feels like another lifetime. But at the same time, from the outside looking in it must seem like it was only yesterday. We all saw what he did to Katie, but most of us weren't strong enough to do anything about it. What he did to that girl… It was monstrous. But Katie didn't want any of the other girls to say anything.

"Still, I was her best friend. I had to do something. A girl I knew named Rachael felt the same way, she stood by me as I told the Sisters what had happened. But when they asked Katie, she denied everything and we were the ones punished for making up such horrid lies. Desmond was a good boy, they said, and to make up lies about such an outstanding soul was a sin.

"The real sin was letting him get away with it. I could never understand why Katie didn't do anything about it, why she didn't just confess. Maybe she was ashamed? Maybe she blamed herself?

"When Desmond had done it again, and again, it made me so angry inside. I kept asking her why she wouldn't just point the finger at him, why she wouldn't just call him out on it. But she wouldn't answer, and every time I asked she pushed me further and further away.

"When we were finally released from the system, Katie wouldn't speak to me. When I tried to see her, she shut herself inside her apartment and away from the world. She snuffed me out of her life; the one and only friend she had in the world, the only person she could depend on through the worst of things, and she shut me out with everything else.

"I was angry. No, I was more than angry, I was betrayed and that made me vicious. I wanted vindication, but had no way of finding it.

"Rex and I kept in touch, he was really the only close friend I'd had after Katie left me in the dust. I heard Desmond and Allison were dating; I couldn't believe it was true. After seeing what he did, what kind of… monster he really was, how could any woman let him touch her?

"Six months ago I got a call from Allison. She said she'd found out where Katie was. I don't exactly remember what my initial reaction was beyond the residual sting that I felt in my chest at the thought of the cruelty of Katie's silence. Part of me still wanted justification for what she'd done, and part of me wanted to let it go. But that part didn't win in the end.

"As it turned out, Katie had been moving around under different aliases to avoid being found. So Allison had an idea. She said that she and Desmond wanted to play a little prank, something that would ground Katie; remind her that no matter what name she was using, or where she lived, she could never escape her past. I was so angry that I wanted to go along with it. I wanted to be a part of whatever would hurt Katie the most; wound her deeply like she'd done to me.

"We met in a warehouse and I was immediately handed a camera. 'Just a little home movie,' Allison said. Desmond hadn't changed – in fact, he'd gotten somehow… darker. Like all of the happiness, all of the light in the world, vanished in lieu of his darkness. He was like an eclipse.

"What we filmed that night… there are no words. Desmond tied Allison up, and she began to scream and cry. She begged him not to hurt her as he ripped and cut her clothing off of her body with his razor. That was when the situation became too repulsive for me to bear. They acted out Katie's rape, and both of them reveled in the idea that it would break Katie once she saw the film.

"After all was said and done, I… I just stopped talking to Allison, and I prayed to whatever god there was in heaven that I would never see Desmond again. The last time I spoke to his brother Rex was when he called to tell me that Katie had taken her own life. I knew it was because of the tape. I knew that it was because of what we'd done. Katie committed suicide because I was too small and bitter to accept why she needed to get away from everyone, even me.

Then he called Desmond today, saying that he needed to see me. I asked if he was in any kind of trouble, but… he wouldn't say. All he said was meet him there after dark and then he'd never bother me again. I don't want to hear his voice, let alone see him again, but if it will be the last time I'll ever see him for the rest of my life I'll take the risk."

April tucked her hair behind her ears and stared at her mug on the coffee table.

"If I could take back those choices, Mr. Jayden, I would. But as it is I'll have to live with them for as long as I can bear the cross on my shoulders," she said.

I couldn't help but stare at her, wondering but what had pushed her so far over the edge of her quiet life. What had taken her from this calm, docile woman to someone who would film a rape reenactment to harm a friend? The answer came immediately, though; I knew exactly what made her do it; Desmond Casey. A parasite. A plague.

My thoughts were pulled away from April as my phone vibrated in my pocket. I slipped it out of my pocket and glanced down at Ethan's name. I asked if April would excuse me for a moment, and she nodded quietly. I stepped around the living room furniture and made my way right out the front door, standing on the porch in the darkness.

"Ethan," I said as I placed the phone against my ear.

"Norman, where are you?"

"I'm out in the countryside – I'm not far from your house. Why, is everything all right? Is something wrong?" Images struck my eyes as I thought of Blake being at the house. He knew exactly where to find them and what they meant to me.

"No, nothing's wrong, nothing at all," Ethan said. I could hear the slight chuckle in his voice and it soothed the knots in my stomach. "We were just sitting down to dinner and I was wondering if you'd be joining us."

"Oh," I said.

"Are you busy with something?" He asked.

Yeah, actually, I'm not going to be able to make it tonight," I said. I would bet money that Ethan was crestfallen, I just knew it. He'd probably been planning a big dinner all day since Shaun was back.

"It's not a big deal, don't worry about it," Ethan said.

"I'm really sorry, I didn't know," I said glumly. I was sure he felt the same way.

"Really, it's not a problem," Ethan said assuringly. A few seconds of silence ensued until I heard his hushed voice again. "Is this about the case?"

I peaked inside one of the windows on the porch to check on April. She sat contentedly on the couch and kept staring at the blank TV screen, twiddling her thumbs.

"Yes, I'm with the last victim, April Habshack," I said. "She's been contacted by Blake and she's going to meet up with him tonight. I'm going with her."

Ethan's sigh put just as much stress on me as I'd just put on him. "I don't want you to go."

"I know you don't," I said.

"But we both know you're going to go anyway," he said. I chuckled a bit with a small grin.

"Yeah," I said.

"What are you going to do to him?" He asked. I put my hands in my pocket and tossed around a few torture ideas in my head. I didn't know how Ethan felt about my revenge scheme. But I'd already told myself that I wasn't going to lie to him. Honesty is always the best policy in any loving relationship.

"I'm going to kill him," I confessed.

"Don't," Ethan said. I wasn't sure if I'd heard him correctly; was he asking me _not_ to kill Blake? "Please, don't."

"Why? He's a god-damned murderer and he deserves it," I said through gritted teeth. "Need I remind you that he only just tried to kill me? He could just as well come after you and Shaun if he gets away!"

"Norman, after what happened to you… After the woman… Do you really think that you killing Blake won't have consequences?" Ethan asked. "What if that kind of reminder, with the Origami Killer and that mother, does irreparable damage?"

I hadn't thought about that. Both times I'd shot someone my body and mind were both pretty much a wreck from the ARI. Ethan had the incredible perception to note just what kind of risk killing Blake would put me in.

But letting Blake live was an even bigger risk.

"No one deserves it more than Carter Blake, I understand that Norman; but if my choices are between risking you and letting him live then I'm begging you to show some semblance of mercy. Let the police deal with him."

Funny; my choices were just the opposite. If I let him live then I'd be risking Ethan and Shaun.

"My mind's made up, Ethan," I said firmly. "I'm sorry but he's dying tonight. I'll call you when it's over."

"Wait – don't hang up!"

I let the earpiece linger, fighting the urge to just hang up before me managed to talk me out of it. I heard his deep breathing on the other end as he absorbed my resolve.

"Whatever you do tonight, whatever you decide, I'll still be waiting for you when you're done," he said. "I just wanted you to know that. Be careful, please be careful."

I blinked a few times to control the emotion welling up in my eyes. There wasn't really much to say after a statement like that. Still, forced myself to take a deep breath and tried to come up with something reassuring to tell him.

"I'll be home before the sun comes up tomorrow, I promise," I said. I rolled my eyes; if that wasn't the hokiest statement in existence I didn't know what was. You could practically put it in Annie and not suffer an odd glance from the audience. Must have been the tears brought on by the odd cold air. "Say hi to Shaun for me."

I hung up and sniffled, stretching my shoulders to try and compose myself before I went back inside to April. I had to get into a predator's mindset – I couldn't kill Blake feeling all mushy and sentimental.

A violent tremor jolted my hands at my side. My eyes trembled as my focus wained, shapes becoming blurs. I needed a glass of water.

I opened the door and smiled at April as I slipped my phone back into my coat pocket.

"Sorry, just explaining that I won't be home for dinner," I said.

"Wife?" She asked.

"No, never married," I said. "Say, do you have a bathroom that I can use?"

April sat her mug on the table and rocked off of the couch, leading me to the bathroom in the short hallway. I thanked her and closed the door, leaning on the sink for support as my legs began to feel weak and feeble. It felt as though all of the energy in my body had been sapped at once, and waves of nausea started pounding the back of my head like tides to the shore.

I didn't need this, not right now, not when I was finally about to go and face Blake.

Then something happened, something I'd never experienced before. My knees gave out from under my frame like someone had kicked them out from behind. I fell and smacked my face against the edge of the ceramic sink, slumping to the floor in a helpless heap.

There I was again, paralyzed and unable to blink, breath, or call out for help. I looked around for some shadow or sign that He would be here to convince me that I needed a hit of Tripto, but He wasn't there. I was alone, powerless and vulnerable with no one to count on but myself.

My flat, lifeless lungs began to ache, and an icy burn reached up and out into my esophagus. Black spots filled the periphery of my sight until I was completely blinded and left lying in darkness.

When I came around I was breathing again, but I was no longer lying on April's bathroom floor. I heard someone asking if I was all right, and I tried to focus my eyes. My fingers dug into moist soil in the darkness as long grass blades grazed my face.

I regained enough strength to try and stand, and I pushed myself onto my hands and knees. I looked around in the darkness and saw tall firs jutting up into the night sky.

"Forgive him," I heard. The voice clenched my heart and had me up on my feet instantly. Ethan stood a bit further down this dirt trail and I slowly made my way toward him. He stepped aside into the grass and pointed down to a large cabin beside a lake. "It's in the blood."

"Where the hell are we?" I asked. His eyes shifted behind me and I glanced over my shoulder to a large wooden sign held up by two totem poles; Welcome To Blue Marsh Lake: St. Christian's Orphanage. "What are we doing here?"

I looked back, but Ethan was gone. I walked forward into the moonlight a bit more, but Ethan was nowhere to be seen. However, I did catch sight of a curious white shape down by the lake waters. I stepped closer, slowly making my way down the hill and observing this little person draped in white as she ran alongside the water.

"Hey, wait," I called out. She stopped and looked up at me as I drew near. I was at the water's edge, making my way closer to her. Then my eyes focused a bit more and I realized whose face I was looking at.

Hannah Breslin looked up at me with a blank stare, draped in white and dripping from head to toe.

"Katie!"

Hannah turned her head. She moved, but I held up a hand and took a rash step forward.

"Wait, don't go!"

"He's coming," she said. "He'll find us."

She ran around the edge of the water into the dark cabin. I stared after her as water lapped against my shoes.

The clouds swallowed the moon and the air grew thicker. I heard something beyond the trees, like rhythmic whispering. I thought I heard the rattle of a snake's tail in the grass, but I shook the thought.

A shadow stood among the trees on the trail from where I'd just came. It had the shape of a man, but I could tell that it wasn't human. Black oily shadows hide its features from me, but I was in doubt on whether it really had any features to begin with.

"What the hell do you want from me?" I asked.

He didn't say anything, He just stood there watching. A putrid stench snapped my attention away from the shadow, and as I looked around me I realized that I wasn't exactly in Kansas anymore. It was the same forest, but the trees were bare, and from their boughs hung white bloody sacks, strange bleeding shaped wrapped in clean linen and strung from the branches. Some were small, and some were the size of a man. Pieces of my past, I already knew what they were the moment I laid eyes on them.

_Release me_.

His voice rang inside of my head like a jackhammer, and with each word a sharp pain scraped the inside of my skull.

"No, I'm not using," I said.

_Release me!_

The intensity of His fury inside of my skull brought me to my knees. I knew that this was all in my head, it was just an episode, but the pain was severe and unmistakably real.

"You're getting weaker," He said. "Your mind is breaking, and the pieces of you are starting to incubate; your fear, your shame, your rage – they're all laughing at you from inside of your own head as you try to ignore them."

My own cocky visage knelt down beside me and placed a hand on my shoulder as I stood on my knees.

"Why not just admit defeat and release me?" He asked.

"Because I'm not broken," I said. The tremors quaking my tight muscles sent every nerve to its maximum limit of pain. I could barely speak with my jaw so tightly shut.

"But you are. You believe that you're still Norman Jayden, but you're not – he's gone. A good man he was, but now all that's left of his psyche is you. And what are you? Nothing. You're just the empty vessel of an addiction, a vice incarnate. You need to be filled up, and I can do that."

"No," I said.

He leaned close and put his face right up to mine. He growled, and it wasn't my voice anymore, but the dark and sinister shriek that resonated inside of my head.

"If you don't release me, then Shaun and Ethan will be the ones to suffer the consequences before this is over."

I saw a face over his shoulder; Ethan's face. He looked so sad, and yet so tranquilly content with a small, comforting smile on his lips.

"Don't listen to him," Ethan said. "You will find a way."

Ethan watched Him intently as He stood at full stature. They stared each other down. I knew that He couldn't touch Ethan, because I knew exactly what Ethan was when I first laid eyes on him. They were equals, two halves of a whole. Ethan brought out the best in me, the hope and strength I thought I'd lost. And once he'd planted that inside me with a key in my hand, I knew that he would never go anywhere.

He was here to help me in my weakest hour, when the other part of me was so determined to take control.

Ethan's face faded, as did the morbid forest of rotted flesh, and the lake. All that remained were creamy-white bathroom tiles, and my blood soaked body. I looked down; my soar, cramped hands were covered in my own blood, as was my shirt, my slacks, and my coat. I staggered as I tried to pull myself to my feet and saw myself in the mirror.

Great, long streaks of blood covered my face, running from my eyes, my nose, my ears. I felt a pain inside of my torso, and panicked. I prayed that I wasn't bleeding inside as well, I would have to immediately rush to the hospital for the risk of bacterial infection killing me. But I didn't have that kind of time; this was my only chance to catch Blake before he ran off. I knew exactly what his plan was, he'd been planning for it for twenty years. $600 a month in his bank account for two decades was plenty of money to start a new life.

I washed my face but didn't worry about cleaning up. I didn't mean to leave that bloody mess on the floor for April to clean up, but I had no time to waste. She'd thank me if I could kill Blake before he could finish her off.

I opened the bathroom door and stumbled through the living room, still trying to gain control over my body.

"Oh my god!" April shrieked, but I held up a hand.

"No time to explain everything, but don't worry – I'm fine. Just stay here, lock your doors and windows, and whatever you do, absolutely under no circumstances are you to go to the lake, all right?"

April nodded with fresh panic on her face as she saw all of the blood that stained nearly every inch of my shirt. I closed the front door behind me and heard it lock. Satisfied that she was going to stay put, I made my way to my car and slumped into my seat.

I still felt so incredibly weak that it was a struggle to close my door and strap myself in. I had to sit and take a few well needed breaths before I could start the car. I was glad that Ethan couldn't see me like this, but that in itself worried me. How many times would he have to see me like this? My problems were manageable before, when I was stress-free, moving around, and living paycheck to paycheck. But now that I'd roused this blackness inside of me by taking on the Barbershop Killer case, how much of it would go back into hiding and how much would haunt me forever?

I followed the maps to the Orphanage on my phone, speeding through back roads that I knew I should drive with caution. But I needed to get there before Blake decided to make a run for it. He would wait long enough to finish off April to complete his list, but I knew that if he had to, he would let her live to save his own skin.

I cut the lights on my car once I saw the sign at the top of the little dirt road. It looked just like it did in my dream. So did the cabin, and the water below. Just how my mind had managed to perfectly recreate a scene I'd never seen before, I couldn't even begin to fathom.

I stepped out of my car and stuck to the shadows of the trees as I made my way down to the lake. Everything was just as I'd seen it in my episode, so eerily so that I was afraid that I'd see Him lurking somewhere around here.

I saw Blake pacing the boat dock on the lake. A fat black duffle bag sat at his feet. I could faintly hear him mumbling a slew of curses and cusses as he stomped impatiently on the boards of the dock. Careful not to stir a rock or draw any attention to myself, I made my way around the bank and to the end of the boat dock.

"Fuck! Where the fuck are you, April?" Blake growled. He glanced down at his watch and swung his fist when he saw the time. "Fuck it."

He picked up his duffle bag and turned, where he saw me standing at the end of the dock under one of the lamps, gun pointed right at him. His eyes flashed, and he was completely horror-stricken.

"Put your hands up, Blake," I said.

"Shit, you survived," he spat. He dropped the bag and held his hands out at his sides. "Did April go to the police?"

"No, she was actually going to come and meet you here. But I found her first." I saw his hands slowly moving, lowering centimeter by centimeter. I knew that gambit, and I took a few more strides out on the dock, gun held high. "Stop moving your hands."

"So what now, _Nahman? _You take me in, become a hero, and get your job back? Is that your ingenious plan?" Blake mocked with a smirk.

"Oh, no, Blake – this isn't about getting my job back, this is you and me settling scores," I said. His grin fell as he took in my cold, set eyes and thought through my words.

"You still mad at me for putting you in a box?" He asked.

"Among other things, like dropping me fifty feet into a lake to die," I said. "But this isn't just for me."

"What, your boyfriend have a grudge against me, too?" He asked.

"No, but I know a girl who can't speak for herself anymore thanks to you," I said. I reached into the breast pocket of my coat and threw the folded bundle of papers at him. He picked them up and unfolded them, flipping from face to face.

"You know who's not in that stack of victims, Blake? Katie. But you can bet that this is as much for her as it is for them."

"You think I killed them?" Blake asked. "Get this through your thick skull, Jayden; I am not the Barbershop Killer!"

"Bullshit," I said.

"I'm not the Barbershop Killer!" He shouted again.

"Who else could it be, Desmond? You and April are the only ones left alive, and she doesn't have any motive to go and kill all of the other girls – but you do," I said. Blake closed his eyes and actually began to sob. It nearly faltered me, but I kept steady. "I know what you did to Katie, and I have witnesses to back it up, including Rex."

"I'm not the killer, I swear to Christ I'm not the killer," he sobbed. "Please, Jayden, don't kill me. Please don't kill me, I'm begging you."

"It's too late to beg, Blake," I said. I could feel cold indifference grasp my heart from the inside as I pointed my gun at his forehead; clean shot, one pull of the trigger. I could almost hear Him laughing, and it sent chills down my back.

"You want money? I have money! Right there in that bag! $150,000, you can have every last dollar!"

"I don't want your fucking money, Blake!" I walked right up to him and placed the tip of the barrel against his forehead. His body trembled as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the shot to end it all.

There he was on his knees, crying for forgiveness. I had him exactly where I wanted him, and things couldn't have gone any better. The darkness, that black cackling voice, urged me on. It knew that with every kill it would gain more control over me. This kill would probably push Him over me, making me weak in comparison. He would have complete control over me if I pulled the trigger, and somehow I still didn't care.

Blake was a monster, and monsters needed to be dealt with.

But something held me back, someone who'd become so much a part of me that I could practically hear his voice speaking right into my ear, feel the hot breath from his lips.

"Don't do this," he said. I wanted Blake dead just as much as I wanted to listen to Ethan. The problem was deciding which one I wanted more. If I killed Blake then I would probably never be able to see Ethan for the risk of harming him and Shaun do to His control over my mind. But I couldn't imagine a future without Ethan, not after knowing how strong we were together. I couldn't imagine going back to being just me; I wouldn't survive a month without him now.

When Blake opened his eyes, I stared right into them as hot streams of tears flowed down his face.

I pulled the trigger, and the gun sparked. Thunder roared across the water and slapped off of the trees as the sound echoed. The hole where the bullet had gone through was smoking, and Blake stared down at the smoking wood as well. He didn't dare move after I'd fired the round into the dock.

"Stand up," I said. Blake didn't move for a moment, looking up at me with frightened confusion. I urged him on and he slowly got to his feet. "Move."

I stepped behind him and placed my gun to his back. "Try anything and you're paralyzed. Up to the cabin, let's go."

He slowly made his way back to the shore end of the dock and up the slope, into the shadows of the cabin. I reached into the coat pocket and searched for the cuffs, but just beneath the smooth steel metal I felt something round and glass.

I didn't understand how it'd gotten back into my pocket – I knew that I'd put it back in its place.

I shook the thought and pulled out the cuffs, slapping one around Blake's wrist and the other around the post of a nearby bunk bed.

"I'm not going to die?" Blake asked unsteadily.

"No. You're going to live, you're going to be tried, and you're going to serve justice like you deserve." He should be grateful that Ethan had asked me to be so magnanimous. Had he not called, Blake would be a dead man.

"Thank you," Blake said. I smiled, and then hit his left temple with the handle of my gun to knock him out.

I rolled my eyes, and something else caught my attention. I pulled out my car keys and clicked on the maglight on the key-ring. On the edge of the bed were two names carved into the wood. The top name was April June, the bottom name was Katie's. Blake was cuffed to Katie's bed; how fitting.

I wandered down the aisle of bunk beds a bit, reading off the other names carved into the wood from top to bottom. Allison Harper/Jessie Greene, Denise Juneau/Monica Deveraux, Desmond Casey/Rex Casey, and lastly Rachael Leigh and Norman Casey.

I saw the name Norman Casey, scratched out, and I swallowed. I saw a young teenage girl sitting on the top bunk, chatting with another older girl with long red hair, laughing while I sat quietly on the bottom bunk. I was the youngest, only seven years old when we arrived. There I was still crying over our parents, and Desmond would get mad and hit me.

"No fucking way," I said. Memories had been jogged loose and suddenly I felt like I was a kid again, standing in the dark and afraid. I looked over at Blake, slumped over on the bed, unconscious.

I knew that Mom and Pop had adopted me, but most of my childhood was a blur. But standing here, looking around, suddenly I remembered things that I didn't want to. And looking at my former last name, along with the man I was going to kill moments ago, made me sick to my stomach.

I threw up, all over the floor. I didn't care about the mess, my mind was still wrapping itself around the details that I'd made myself forget, that no one else cared to remember.

My phone vibrated noisily in my pocket. I fished it out into the palm of my hand; Ethan.

"Yeah?" I answered shortly. I didn't mean to, I was still just plain bowled over.

"Are you all right? Where are you?" He asked.

"I'm at the Orphanage," I said. I sniffled, and spit the residual bile out of my mouth as Ethan's silence lingered.

"Is Blake…?"

"He's alive," I said. "I have him cuffed and I'm about to call Ash."

I could practically _hear_ Ethan's smile on the other end of the line as I told him the news that I didn't kill Blake.

"Listen, Madison just called, she wants me to meet her somewhere," Ethan said. "She said it's urgent. Shaun's already in bed, so when you get home just try not to wake him. I left a plate for you in the refrigerator."

"Thanks," I said. "Be safe, I'll see you when this is all over."

One I hung up with Ethan I immediately dialed Ash's number.

"Lieutenant Ash," he answered.

"Ash, it's Jayden. Listen, I'm at St. Christian's Orphanage by Blue Marsh Lake. I've got Desmond Casey, he's subdued." I said.

"You have Carter Blake?" He asked.

"Yeah, cuffed him to a bunk and knocked him out."

"Listen stay right there, I'm on my way – listen, I have something you'll want to see," he said.

"I'll be here, just hurry."

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and searched for a way to switch on these overhead lights. I wanted to see if they still had power. As I found the switch beside the front door, I was pleasantly surprised to see that they still worked.

I heard Blake groan. I looked over my shoulder as he sat up. I grabbed his collar and shook him until he focused.

"The hell, Jayden?" He asked irritably.

"How many brothers do you have?" I asked.

"Just one," he said.

"Then why are there three Casey's here?" I asked. Blake looked around, confused, and thought for a moment.

"We had a half brother from my dad's second marriage, but that lucky little shit got out fast," Blake said. "I don't even remember his name, never liked him much anyway."

Shit. I wanted to throw up again, but I didn't have anything left to heave.

"What's the matter with you?" Blake asked suspiciously.

"Just be quiet so I can think," I said.

"Hey, Jayden, you don't look so good," Blake said. I saw blood drip onto the wood beneath my feet and wiped my nose with my hand. I sat on another bunk and tried to calm myself down. Of all revelations I'd rather find out that I had cancer. This was just too much.

I heard the squad cars drive down the dirt road, saw the red and blue flashes reflect off of every tiny tide in the water.

"We need a medic over here," said an officer as he flashed his light on me.

"I'm fine, just a nose bleed," I said. I didn't feel blood gushing from anywhere else, but twice in one night was a bit over the top. "There's your man."

"Jayden," Ash said as he stepped inside. "You look like hell."

"I feel worse," I said. I was woozy, nauseous, aching, and grouchy. Basically, I was done with this shit.

"Listen, April Habshack is dead," Ash said. My eyes focused quickly at that news, and I shot up from my seat on the bed.

"That's impossible, I just saw her less than an hour ago," I said.

"Blood evidence matches the killer's DNA to that of the hair fibers found in Rachael Leigh's home in Pittsburg. We have a positive identification thanks to hospital records," Ash said.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Carter Blake is Desmond Casey, but he is not the killer," Ash said. "Yes, he will face charges for attempted murder, he will do time for what he did to you, I'm not saying he isn't being arrested. But I am saying that he is not the killer."

"Then who is?" I asked.

"Katelyn Vaughn," Ash said.

"That's impossible, Katie's dead. She committed suicide, April told me."

"Then she was mistaken, Katelyn Vaughn is very much alive and so are her aliases – she's been moving around under false names, faces, ages," Ash said. "The blood samples from Katelyn Vaughn show that she had been hospitalized twice, once under her true name and once under a very prolific alias."

"Prolific?" I asked.

"You may want to sit down for this," Ash said. "Katelyn Vaughn is currently living under the name Madison Paige, the writer."

Madison Paige. Katie Vaughn. Someone who could slip right under our noses and get away with it all, and now she'd completed the list of women. All that remained on her list were the only ones left; Desmond Casey, and Rex Casey.

And me.

Ethan. Ethan was on his way to meet her. Ethan, Ethan, Ethan.

I had to get to Ethan.


	13. Chapter 12: Sacrifice

12. SACRIFICE

I called Ethan's phone, but there was no answer. Worse still, I had no idea where he had gone to meet Madison. I called again, but all I got was his damn voicemail.

I parked on the opposite side of the street once I got to his house. I fished out my key and twisted it inside the doorknob. The house was dark, quiet, and empty. Empty save a child sleeping upstairs, oblivious to the fact that his dad might have been heading toward his death.

I had to talk myself down, telling myself that I didn't know with any certainty that Madison was going to hurt Ethan, let alone kill him. The main reason was that she had no reason to; Ethan and Shaun had never done her any wrong, they'd given her no reason to do something drastic. I sat on the couch and took slow, steady breaths. If I didn't know where Ethan had gone, I couldn't help him even if I'd wanted to. She could be doing anything to him, torturing him, or maybe even killing him as I sat there. The idea was driving me insane.

I sleuthed around the living room and the kitchen, desperately searching for any kind of clue as to where they could be.

"There's an element here somewhere, there always is; all you have to do is figure out what it is," I said. Madison would go somewhere significant to her and Ethan, and that didn't leave me with anything to go off of. I didn't know much about Madison and Ethan's friendship or how they'd met. All I knew was that they'd both met in the Origami mess.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." I kept repeating it as I paced. Walking in circles here in Ethan's kitchen made me feel like a caged mouse. I was completely helpless this time, with nowhere to go and no way to warn him other than a voicemail on his phone.

I looked up and saw Shaun's face staring back at me. He stood in the doorway with a weary expression, and I realized that it was probably awkward to see some stranger yelling _fuck _in one's kitchen. Not that he didn't know who I was, but we really didn't know each other.

"Hey, buddy," I said with a smile. I straightened out my clothes and looked down with a sour expression; I'd forgotten about all of the blood. "Don't mind this; I had a really bad nose bleed."

It was the truth, but it certainly wouldn't look like that from where Shaun was standing.

"Hey, uh, what are you doing up this late, Shaun?" I asked.

"I can't sleep," he said. "The rain keeps me up at night."

He walked by me and grabbed a glass out of his cupboard. I crept upstairs while he was distracted with his goals to change clothes. I went into the bathroom and washed the crusted blood on my face, and headed back downstairs. When I got there, Shaun was watching TV with his glass of water.

"I don't think your dad would want you up watching TV on a school night, bud." He glanced at me somberly and then picked up the remote, clicking off the cartoon we'd been watching. "Why don't you go upstairs and try to go to sleep?"

"Will you tell me a story?" He asked.

I screamed inside of my head; I didn't have time to be playing den father! Ethan could be in all sorts of trouble and we might never see him again. Every minute I wasted on a story was a higher percentage on his death probability. My frustration manifested itself in a hand tremor, which I tried to stop as soon as it hit.

When I looked at Shaun, I couldn't say no. I had to cater to his needs, he was only twelve. Plus if I panicked, he would know that something was wrong, and then he would start panicking. No, I had to play it calm, cool, and collected.

"Sure, I'll tell you a story," I said. I let Shaun walk ahead of me up the stairs and into his room. He crawled into bed and wrapped himself in his blanket like a comforter.

I sat on the edge of his bed and looked around his room, taking note of the books on the shelf of his night stand.

"Do you have a preference? Any certain book?" I asked. I reached down and slipped Jules Verne out of his little cubby, followed by Robert Louis Stevenson. "Treasure Island? That's a great one, haven't read this since I was a kid myself."

"Tell me about when you and my dad found me," Shaun said. A strange sound clogged my throat as I laughed and choked at the same time. I cleared my throat and sat the books back on the shelf.

"That's not exactly a bedtime story," I said.

"It's got good guys and bad guys – it's a great bedtime story," Shaun said.

I couldn't argue that point, and I could see why he wanted to hear it. He was the poor helpless prince and his dad was the king, the hero who saves the day at the last minute. So I told him what had happened, from when I'd helped his dad escape the police station all the way to my stand-off with Scott Shelby. I told him just how much his dad had sacrificed to save him. I told him that when Ethan finally had Shaun in his arms I saw some strange, new, and beautiful kind of magic that I didn't know existed.

"Were you scared when you faced the killer?" Shaun asked.

"On the record, I wasn't afraid; I just did what I had to do to save you and your dad," I said. I shifted my eyes and looked around for effect, like I was making sure the toys in his room couldn't overhear our conversation. That got a smile and a laugh out of him. "You want to hear the off-the-record answer?"

He nodded.

"I was terrified. I honestly didn't know if I could win that fight," I said. I leaned over Shaun as I remembered that fight with Shelby, when he had a good grip of me and almost throw me to my death. "But I knew that even if I didn't make it out of that fight alive, you and your dad would be all right."

I tucked in his blanket and sheets a bit more and ruffled his hair. "Good night, Shaun."

"Good night, Mr. Jayden." He rolled over and that was that. I turned off his bedroom light and left the door cracked. I walked into Ethan's office and finally let myself unravel; I didn't have to pretend to be calm anymore. I leaned on Ethan's work desk and tried to think of some kind of plan. That kid in there was expecting to see his hero again, and if I couldn't deliver him then nothing I could ever say or do would be able to make up for it.

Not only that, but I was also expecting to see Ethan again, because he was just as much a hero to me as he was to his son. Ethan had more people depending on him than he realized at times.

I groaned and placed my forehead on the desk. I didn't know what the hell I could do, and that powerless notion made want to scream and tear this room apart. I lifted my head and felt something stuck to my forehead. I smacked the sticky surface of the photograph off of my head and sighed. There was nothing that I could do but wait for Ethan to come home.

That is until I looked down at the photograph that had just clung to my flesh. I picked it up and held it underneath the light of the desk lamp. Ethan and Madison stood in front of the Crossroads Motel with Shaun standing between them. Ethan was all bandaged up, in bad shape, but they all smiled triumphantly. They were probably commemorating their victory over the Origami Killer's chaos.

I flipped it over, and sure enough there were words written in bold black marker.

THE FIRST STEP TO A NEW LIFE. WHERE IT ALL BEGAN.

There was my answer. When someone cleans up their tracks, they start at the end of their list and work their way backwards until they go back to the beginning to make sure that they cover all loose threads. If Madison was really about to make a dash again and change her life, then she would be going back to where she and Ethan first began their relationship.

I dropped the photo and made a mad dash for the front door. I wasted no time in slipping into the car and snapping my seatbelt in. I may have felt like shit, and I may have lost a lot of blood, but I wasn't going to let that slow me down. I was going to find Ethan and bring him home. Shaun needed him. I needed him.

I sped through the streets, not bothering to keep a lookout for cops. I drove around cars in my way and even cut through a few red lights. Reckless, I knew, but time was precious. I swerved into the lot of the motel and parked the car right in front of the office. When I glanced around the lot, I saw Ethan's car. I pulled my gun out of the holster beneath my arm and made sure that it was loaded and ready to fire. I pushed my way into the lobby, gun held high and looking around for any sign of Rex Casey. No one up front. I slowly made my way around the counter and that's where I found him.

He lay lifeless on the tiled floor in his own blood. A single slice to his throat suggested that Madison had probably killed him as he stood behind the counter; a quick swipe. She was here. The question was where.

I stepped over Rex's body and made my way into the back office. I saw the TV monitor watching the lobby through the video camera, and I prayed that it recorded. I looked around for some kind of computer or VCR. I found the laptop connected to the monitor on the desk and clicked back on the video feed; it was recording – finally, something working with instead of against me. I rewound the video feed until I saw her figure.

I watched as Rex Casey smiled, laid on his charms, and then met with the very sharp edge of his own brother's razor. He dropped behind the counter, and Madison looked down at him for a moment before reaching for one of the keys: room #207. She took the key and quickly left the lobby. I stared at the screen for a moment, wondering just who I would be dealing with when I made it to the room. Katie? Madison? One and the same, but clearly they were very diverse. One difference was the cold look in her eyes when she killed; that was all Katie. Anger, rage, vendetta. Revenge. It had consumed her. I saw in her eyes what I might have become if I hadn't listened to Ethan and shot Blake. He'd managed to save me again.

I was about to rush out the door but stopped when I saw another person appear on the screen. I saw the man wander into the lobby, looking around. Ethan walked right up to the desk and rang the bell on the counter. He was completely oblivious to Rex Casey bleeding out on the floor behind the counter, and the man couldn't call out for help. Then Ethan turned, and Madison appeared behind him. They began talking, but I couldn't hear anything without audio.

I didn't wait any longer, I grabbed the key to room 206 and ran out into the cold night air, rushing up the stairs as quickly as I could. I unlocked 206, slipped inside and cut through the room, sliding the glass doors aside. I climbed the decorative concrete banister of the balcony and stepped across as quietly as I could. I didn't want her knowing I was coming.

On the long stretch, I pressed myself against the wall beside the glass doors. I peeked around, peering through the glass.

Ethan sat in a wooden chair, his hands and legs duct taped to the arms and spokes. Madison sat before him on the bed, running her fingers over the freshly cleaned blade of the razor.

"So what now?" Ethan asked.

Madison looked up and sat the razor on the bed. She stood up and roughly ran her fingers through his hair, and I squared my jaw; I didn't want her touching him. "Now I just clean up the rest. I find Desmond, kill him, and that will be the last of them."

"And me?" Ethan asked.

"I can't leave any part of my life here behind, you know that," she said.

"Why?" Ethan asked. "Why did you do all of this? Why now?"

"Have you ever had to run away from yourself?" Madison asked. "Have you ever had so see something every day that reminded you of what you had to go through? Never being able to sleep at night because you see him coming to get you in your home, afraid that he's going to cut and rape you again."

She undid her shirt, button by button, and exposed her torso. "Every day I see this scar and I remember what he did to me. I was able to run, to move around and live a normal life. And it worked for a while, but he found me again. No matter what you do, the past will always come back for you. They all laughed at me, made fun out of my pain, and even went so far as to film it and send it to me just to show me that they knew who and where I was, and that as long as they lived I would never be free.

"As long as they were all alive, I would never be able to let it go because they knew. Some of them could sweep it under the rug but the others would use those memories to use and abuse me. So I had to make this the final getaway. The only way for me to get away completely was to kill everyone who was there.

"Can you understand that, Ethan? Can you understand this scar?"

"Yes," Ethan said. He looked Madison dead in the eyes and said it again. "Yes, I can."

Madison sneered with disgust and anger. "How could you possibly understand?"

"I have my own scar," Ethan said. He hung his head low and stared at the floor. "I see it every morning when I wake up, and every night before I go to sleep; a constant reminder that I'd failed. Every time I see Shaun's face, I remember that Jason isn't here because of me. Shaun is my reminder that I got my own son killed. I know what it's like to never be able to escape something."

Madison sat back down on the bed and picked up the twin to Blake's razor. She twirled it around in her hands a couple of times while Ethan watched warily.

"You know, maybe it would have been best if you'd just left Shaun with his mother and went away yourself," she said as she stared at the blade. "It's a lot easier than you'd think. Just pick a name you like, and hit the road. Work freelance for cash under the table, no one will ever need government identification, no social security number, just your face and your name."

"Maybe I'm just a stronger person than you are," Ethan said. "I love Shaun, and I couldn't think of life without him."

"Yeah, well you keep bringing despair into his life; maybe you're just fooling yourself," Madison said. "It doesn't matter, your road stops here where we began. It's the only way for me to have a completely fresh start."

"What about Shaun?" Ethan asked. "You can kill or torture me as much as you want, but just leave Shaun alone."

"Shaun will be fine. Once they find your body, he'll go to his mom, he'll live a normal life. He'll grow up, and forget all about me. I won't have to worry about Shaun," Madison said.

"So you're a cold-hearted killer when it comes to me, but at least kids are safe," Ethan said sardonically. "Where it the line for you? What makes you such a good person and such a monster?"

"Happy people can be among the cruelest; those who have everything they want can be the ones to hurt less fortunate souls for no reason other than it amuses them. Is it really so hard to believe that I can still be a good person, even after all that I've done?" She asked. Ethan remained silent on that question. "I try to do good and help those who need it, but this is something that I have to do for survival. Don't worry, your child will be unharmed."

I saw Ethan's body relax, and he closed his eyes. He was ready to die as long as Shaun would live. Nothing had changed in two years. He opened his eyes again and stared at the razor in Madison's hand.

"So is that the tool of choice?" Ethan asked.

She looked down and folded the razor shut, tossing it on the bed. "No, this one wasn't meant for you. It's only got one more throat to graze and then it's finished."

Madison picked up her jacket and fished the keys from her motorcycle out of the pocket.

"Don't go anywhere," she said with a small, humorous smirk.

She closed the door behind her and I quickly rushed to the sliding glass door. I tried to open it, but the latch was locked on the inside. Ethan heard my attempts and looked up, wide-eyed and shocked to see me there. I saw a smile of hope spread across his face, and I couldn't help but smile back.

I hit the glass with the gun three times before I managed to break through a small section, and with a piece broken I knew that the rest of it would be weak enough to kick through. I jutted my foot forward and the entire door gave away, falling down to the floor in pieces.

I ran right inside and grabbed the razor on the bed. I swung it open and went to cutting at the duct tape around his ankles.

"How did you find me?" Ethan asked exuberantly.

"Followed the clues," I said. I cut through the tape around his wrists, and I heard him whimper as I accidently nicked his skin. I was about to apologize but he brought his hands to my face and blocked any words that may have come out with his mouth. He kissed me as I knelt on the floor before him, and for a moment I forgot where we were. But my senses quickly came back to me and I pulled away from him.

"We don't have time for this right now, we have to get you out of here before Madison comes back," I said. Ethan nodded and followed me to the balcony. "Jump over to 206, call Ash on my phone and tell him what's going on. When you hear me talking to Madison I want you to run for my car. Drive home, get shaun, and go to the police station."

I put the keys and my cell in his hand and closed his fingers around it.

"What about you?" He asked.

"I'm going to wait here on the balcony for Madison to keep her here as long as I can," I said.

"You can't, she'll kill you!"

"Ethan, just do as I say," I said.

Ethan's eyes darted all over my face in panic as he stared at me. I took his hands into mine and leaned forward. I kissed him softly, slowly; it may be our last. With Madison's agenda, it probably would be. She wasn't just going to let me go, she was going to kill me if I didn't kill her first. But I couldn't kill her unless I risked everything I had with Ethan. Right now, all that I had with Ethan was this one kiss and a goodbye, and it was completely worth the risk.

I broke away when I heard the door handle.

"Go!"

Ethan climbed up the banister and hopped across to the other side, slipping into the room. I put my back to the rail and leaned casually, waiting for Madison to find me. It only took a few seconds for her to step out onto the balcony and find me waiting. She lifted up her gun.

I sat mine on the flat surface of the banister and put my hands up.

"Where's Ethan?" She asked.

"Gone," I said. At least, he should be by now. He heard me talking to her, he should be out the door and on his way to the car. "By the time you reach his house, he and Shaun will be long gone."

"And you stayed behind?" Madison asked, daunted and impressed. "Just so he could get away?"

I shrugged with a nod.

"You know who I am?" She asked. I nodded quietly. "Then you know that I'm going to kill you."

"I know," I said.

"You do know that I'll find him, no matter where he goes," she said.

"No you won't," I said. "The cops have your face, know your aliases. You won't have time to find him, you'll have to leave town immediately."

She thought about that as she kept the gun pointed at me.

"So you sacrifice yourself to ensure that I'll get caught down the road? You hate me that much?" She asked. I laughed, and she stammered a bit out of confusion.

"No, I don't hate you," I said. "My sacrifice is for him, it has nothing to do with you."

"Love," Madison said mockingly, bitter and resentful memories crunching up her face in anguish. "I loved him once, too, you know. I should warn you, he's a lost cause. He'd only drag you down with him, moping over how he couldn't save Jason. What joy he brings you is out-shadowed by his depression."

"No, there's a difference between me and you. I'm not too self-absorbed in my own work and bullshit to let him spiral that far down into his past," I said proudly. I'd helped Ethan, and he'd helped me. Madison only helped herself. Being on the run for so long, no one could blame her; taking care of herself was what she'd been programmed to do.

She cocked the hammer back. "Last words?"

"Your book was shit," I said. "I am nothing like Fox Mulder; I have balls."

Madison actually laughed at that. And then the hammer slammed down, and I was knocked back. The force of the gunshot piercing my chest swept me over the balcony and I fell from the third story, flipping through the air until I hit the hard soil and grass below. The wind was knocked right out of me, and my lungs froze from the shock of it. My joints and bones ached, and the impact sent vein-rupturing shocks of force and pain through my body.

I laid there exactly as I'd landed on my stomach, unwilling to move. I felt a couple of rain drops fall from the sky until it began to pour. I was having trouble breathing, and I knew why. I'd been shot in my chest cavity, putting a hole in a pressurized environment. As I bled out, the pressure changed and my lungs could pull in less and less air. Soon I wouldn't be able to breath as all, and then I'd meet my death as asphyxiation if I didn't bleed out first.

Knowing that my car could beat Madison's bike any day, Ethan would get to the house and have Shaun before she could even think about shooting him. Besides, she was probably already on the run by now, on a highway to somewhere she could hide out.

A sacrifice. I die in Ethan's place. He had Shaun, and therefore his life was worth ten of mine.

If I had to get shot again to ensure that Ethan and Shaun would be safe, would I do it?

Absolutely.

Couldn't say that I enjoyed the pain, though. My entire body ached, and I was bleeding from more places than a bathroom had urinals. I saw my gun yards away, fallen off of the balcony with me. And glowing like an ethereal firefly in the night was a little glass vial. Using what strength I could muster, and pushing through the sharp pains in my chest as I moved my arm, I reached out and grasped the Triptocaine in my palm.

It was the best painkiller I could have ever wanted, and there it was in my palm. If I was going to die, the least I could do was die painlessly and on a trip. I deserved that much of a luxury, at least.

I saw Him in the shadows, watching my every move, just waiting for me to use the vial just one last time. He didn't bother or pester me this time, and maybe that's only because he knew that I was a wounded animal dying on the side of the road; he didn't need to do much talking to get me to take it. He just gave me my space, my peace, and patiently waited for me to take the drug. Or maybe he just didn't bother since it was a pitiful sight to watch something die.

But I didn't need the vial. I shoved it away with the last bit of vigor left in my fingers. I just thought of Ethan lying next to me, singing me to sleep with that gentle, content smile on his lips. I didn't want him to feel guilty about me, and I hoped that he wouldn't. I just wanted him to be happy. If he and Shaun could find somewhere they could be totally happy and carefree, then dying wouldn't be so bad after all.

My heart stopped when I heard a gunshot from the parking lot. I heard one more, and then only the echo of the rain remained.

My breaths were slower and shallow until I finally took my last, and lay there, waiting for my mind to follow my body. Even though I was alone, Ethan was there, and by morning we'd be gone.


	14. Epilogue: Rainy Day Blues

Epilogue: Rainy Day Blues

I couldn't be happier that the rain had completely stopped before school was over. But the rain water had seeped into the grass and soil of the cemetery, making pockets of weak ground swallow up my foot here and there. I didn't like it; it made me think that dead people were trying to pull me underground. Looking around at the aisles of headstones, I realized just how many zombies would be surrounding me and my dad if they were to rise out of their graves. There would be nothing that we could do. Maybe if I had a ninja sword, or a machine gun arm. But I didn't.

He stopped at the same grave as always. Every day it was the same routine; he picked me up from school, we stopped by the florist's shop, and then we stopped by the cemetery so he could put a flower on the plaque. Most of the time I would just wait in the car because I didn't like graveyards, and I also didn't like how sad and depressed my dad got when he would stand over that grave. We were never there longer than fifteen or twenty minutes, but it was always the longest twenty minutes in my day.

Today, when we finally got to the plaque, he knelt down and gently laid down the flower as usual, and then he would just get lost in his own world of thoughts. Sometimes he would cry, but most of the time he wouldn't. And then we left.

When we got home, I immediately ran to the couch and reached for the remote on the table. The only problem was that the remote was no longer there because the TV was no longer on the stand. It was already packed away in a box, along with everything else. So I trudged upstairs into my room to go find some toys. My dad had already packed most of the stuff, and the boxes that were taped were untouchable since he wouldn't be very happy that I'd pulled them apart. But some of the boxes were still open, and I was hoping that my toys would be in at least one of them.

To my dismay, there weren't any, not a single one. But I did find some of my picture books, like the 3D Dinosaur book. The problem there was that the 3D glasses were packed somewhere I couldn't reach them.

"Shaun, your mother's on the phone!" I heard my dad at the bottom of the stairs. I sat my books down and made my way down the stairs, step by step. He handed me his phone with a smile and then went back to packing up the kitchen.

"Hey mom," I said.

"Hi sweetheart," she said. "I wanted to tell you that I have to leave town for a few days so you'll have to stay with your dad a _little_ longer than usual. Are you okay with that?"

"Yeah mom, I'm fine," I said. He let me eat junk food anyway.

"Okay. Is there anything you want from the house before I leave? I can bring it to you before I head out."

"No, I've got all of my stuff here," I said.

"All right, honey. I love you," she said. "I'll call you before I go."

"Okay mom, love you too."

I hung up the phone and waltzed into the kitchen, stuffing it in my dad's back pocket. He jumped, surprised, and then laughed. I crawled back up to my room and laid on my bed to kill time.

I hadn't seen the new apartment yet, but I heard it was nicer. It was in the city, so dad said we'd be closer to all sorts of stuff. He said it was a new adventure for us. I didn't care how exciting or fun it would be for him, he wasn't the one who had to switch schools. I was the one losing all of my friends and teachers. Mrs. Pauska had just put me up on the board to take home the class snake in three weeks; now I wouldn't get my turn.

Dad appeared in the doorway, peering in as I glanced his way. He seemed so nervous and apprehensive about something, he'd been that way for the past week. I didn't know what kept him so anxious, it was like he was afraid to talk to me, or maybe afraid of something else.

"Hey kiddo, I'm about to go pick up the moving van. Do you want to ride along?" He asked. I glanced out the window. It looked like it just might rain some more today, could pour at any minute.

"No, I'll wait here," I said. He smiled, but there was some kind of sadness in his eyes that he couldn't hide no matter how cheerful he tried to act. I'd been through this pony show with my dad before, I knew when something was bothering him. He vanished from my doorway and down the stairs he went, closing the door behind him. I heard the lock click, and I was alone.

Why this sudden move? I had to wonder. Why was he so jumpy all the time lately? Why did it seem like he wanted to tell me something, but then he would just comment about my homework or dinner?

Just like I knew it would, the rain came down in sheets as the dark clouds moved across the autumn sky. Usually I had TV or the radio, any kind of noise to distract me from the sound of it slowly filling up all of the holes and gutters outside, but not this time. All I could do was sit there and listen to the water rising, higher and higher. The feeling shook me inside, and I felt so confined inside of my room. Water streaked down the window sills and they may as well have been bars.

I picked up my books and went to sit in the middle of the stairs where I couldn't see any water, and the walls sort of muffled the sound. I just focused on the pictures and the words, putting visions of a grey sky above my head through the bars.

The door unlocked and I saw my dad push the door open. He sat a duffle bag on the floor and stepped aside as he ushered someone inside.

"Watch your step, I have boxes everywhere," said Dad.

"Ethan, I'm not an invalid – my legs function just fine," said Mr. Jayden. He shuffled into the living room as my dad picked up his bag and followed suit.

Part of me was happy to see that he really had lived, just like Dad said he did. It was like no matter what someone did to him, he couldn't die. Maybe he was a vampire? Beating him, shooting him, even dropping him from a three-story building couldn't stop him. He was scared of things just like me, but that didn't stop him from taking action. He was just so… cool.

"I can take my bag upstairs," Mr. Jayden said. He reached for the black bag, but my dad jerked it away from his reach with a playful smile.

"You're not supposed to do any heavy lifting, remember?" He said with a chuckle.

My dad leaned forward. Mr. Jayden's eyes fell on he, and he quickly took a step back, like a ghost had punched him in his chest. Dad followed his gaze, and suddenly both were flushed and averting each other like two magnets facing the same side. Dad cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair.

"Hey, Shaun," he said. "Look, Norman's back from the hospital."

Mr. Jayden waved and I waved back.

"Yeah, I, uh, brought you a souvenir," Mr. Jayden said. He reached into his pocket and produced a small zip-lock bag. He tossed it toward me, and I caught it through the spokes of the stairway banister. I flipped it over in my hand, examining the small piece of rough metal. "That's what they took out of me."

"Awesome!" I ran up the stairs to see it in better light, but stopped at the top of the stairs when I heard my dad groan.

"You gave my son the bullet that they pulled out of your chest?" He asked. "You don't find that a little morbid?"

"He's a twelve-year-old boy, they have morbid interests," Mr. Jayden said.

"Yeah, yeah, all right," my dad laughed. "If you really want to help me out, do in the kitchen and help get the last pots and pans in the big box."

"Apparently I'm not supposed to lift _anything_, remember?"

Both Mr. Jayden and my dad laughed together. The sun had already set by the time me and my dad had the entire van packed. Much to my dad's dismay, Mr. Jayden did help with most of the smaller boxes. We loaded up the last of them, closed the back bay door and my dad locked up the house. I sat in the backseat bench of the moving van, unable to take any last looks of our house as we drove off except for what I could see in the rearview mirror.

Mr. Jayden fell asleep soon after we took off and headed toward our new home. He lightly snored as he leaned his head against the car window. I wondered if he still had a gun on him. How cool would it be to be an FBI agent? I wanted to ask him a handful of questions, and a handful more after those, but I was going to have to wait when he wasn't so groggy from painkillers.

My dad kept sneaking glances over at Mr. Jayden with some kind of smile, like he was relieved to see him sleeping there. It was almost as if he didn't want to take his eyes off of him but had to do so to drive.

Two weeks into our new apartment and I already didn't like it. The city was noisy, and crowded. I lived 1.97 miles from my school, which meant I was .03 miles from being able to ride the school bus. I had to walk nearly two miles to and from school just because of their district boundary policies. The kids in the city were wilder, more obnoxious. In my old school, kids were thought of as cool and funny when they had a great joke to share. Here, one was thought of as cool and funny by how many people they picked on or the teachers they talked back to.

Today was Friday, however, and that meant I had just one more day until the weekend. When I made my way to the kitchen I saw Mr. Jayden sleeping on the couch with one leg sticking out from underneath his blanket and an arm slumps on the floor. I halfheartedly packed my lunchbox with a PB&J and shoved it inside of my backpack. I grabbed a juice pack out of the refrigerator and looked up to see Mr. Jayden standing on the other side of the counter, rubbing his eyes.

"Morning, Shaun," he said.

"Good morning," I said quietly. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked to the window. My stomach knotted up once I saw the streams of water sliding down the glass. Two miles of rain. I tried to imagine walking through it, but all I could feel was a sting in my stomach and the pain of waterlogged skin from being trapped underground for days.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up at Mr. Jayden as he looked around the wet city from our third story window.

"Have you eaten yet, Shaun?" He asked casually as he drew the blinds on the window shut. I shook my head and he patted my shoulder. "Then why don't I drive you to school today and we can pick something up on the way."

He winked and I smiled. I didn't care about the food so much as the ride to school so that I wouldn't have to walk in the rain. I think he knew that, too. He scribbled a quick note for my dad and stuck it to the refrigerator. I knew from personal experience that my dad never noticed notes on the 'fridge, but Mr. Jayden would have to learn that on his own in time.

I unwrapped my egg-and-ham English muffin and chewed it absentmindedly as I stared out the window. The water made no sound as it ran down the window, but in my head it was like nails on a chalkboard, just waiting for me to roll down the window so it could get me.

"So how's your new school?" Mr. Jayden asked.

"It's fine," I said. I looked up and caught him giving me a skeptical glare with one brow popped up. "Fine, I hate it."

"You want to talk about it?" He asked. I shook my head.

"No thanks, Mr. Jayden," I said.

"You know, you can call me Norman," he said. I shrugged. "Listen, I know that change isn't always fun, especially when a lot of them pile up on you at once – new school, new place, some guy crashing in your living room – but things get better. I promise."

I nodded and took another bite of my sandwich. I saw his optimism fade at my sedated reactions to everything he said. I could tell that he was just trying to be nice to me, but I couldn't help it. I just couldn't think or say much with the rainwater watching me so closely.

"You don't mind me living with you and your dad, do you?" He asked. "I mean, it's not _weird _or _awkward_ having me around? I don't make you feel… uncomfortable?"

"No," I said. I saw his hopeful face fall again at my short answer. I pushed the rain out of my mind long enough to try and think of more to add to that answer, at least so he wouldn't think I don't like him. "I mean, you're fun to hang around. You're pretty laidback, most of the time…"

"What do you mean most of the time?" He asked.

"I mean when I walk into a room, you and my dad start acting bizarre and try to stay far away from each other," I said. He swallowed, and put on a phony smile to hide his nerves.

"You noticed, huh?" He asked.

"I have eyes, dude; I'm twelve, not blind," I said. He chuckled tensely and wiped his nose.

"Yeah, I guess so," he said, sipping his coffee.

"What I don't get is why you're sleeping on the couch instead of in bed with my dad," I said. He nearly choked on his coffee and covered his mouth to keep from spitting anything up. "My mom never had to sleep on the couch when she and my dad were together."

"Well, I, uh – I didn't want you to… I didn't want… I didn't know how you'd feel about it all…" He scratched his head and the back of his neck and put both hands on the wheel, sneaking glances at me here and there. "How long have you known?"

"Hello – eyes, twelve," I repeated. He smiled and laughed a bit to himself.

"And it doesn't… bother you?"

"A girl at my old school, Heather Millard, had two moms, and whenever someone made fun of her for it they would buy her a new clothes or a toy. I figure it can't be too bad," I said. I frowned and looked up at him as he stared back curiously. "I don't have to start calling _you_ dad, too, do I?"

"_Please_ don't," he said. "Norman's just fine."

"Good," I said. When we arrived in the lot of the school, Norman was nice enough to walk me all the way to the front door with his umbrella, and then he said to call him after school if it was still raining and he'd come and get me. I watched him walk away and thought about what he may have been thinking about my answers. Did I put any worries to rest? Did I make him uncomfortable?

The five-minute-bell rang and I rushed off to my home classroom.

[][][][][][][][][][][][]

When I unlocked the front door, Ethan was already awake and frying eggs. I slowly, carefully, slipped my coat off of my shoulders and hung it on the coat rack.

"Good morning," Ethan said as he slipped his breakfast on a plate. "Are you hungry? I can fry something up for you really quickly."

"No, thanks, I got breakfast on my way to Shaun's school," I said.

"You drove him to school?" Ethan asked with a shocked look, like the thought of me doing something nice was simply _unfathomable_.

"I left a note," I said. I tossed the keys on the counter as I sat at one of the stools and watched him eat. He glanced obliviously at the refrigerator and then smiled with a shrug.

"Sorry," he said.

"So I had an interesting chat with Shaun on the way," I said, twiddling with the salt and pepper shakers as Ethan stared expectantly. "I asked if he thought my presence was weird. He said the only thing strange to him was why I slept on the couch if we were a couple."

Ethan pulled the same move that I did; he choked on his eggs and ended up spitting them out. "Jesus, you told him?"

"I didn't need to, _he_ told _me_," I said with a wry grin. "You have an observant kid."

Ethan began to panic a bit, and I had to admit that it was a bit cute to watch.

"I have to talk to him when he gets home – he's probably wondering why I didn't tell him. He might think I'm keeping other secrets from him," he rambled. Poor guy, he just cared so much. I slipped off of the stool and made my way around the counter. He was too busy pacing that he didn't even notice me until I put my hands on his shoulders.

"Don't worry about it, he's fine," I said. "We'll talk to him about it later tonight. Just try to relax, keep calm, and let's not bombard him with this stuff."

Ethan nodded and leaned against the counter. I rubbed his back and felt his muscles relax into my touch.

"Guess that means no more couch for you," he said with a smile.

"No more jumping away when Shaun comes home," I said.

"No more pushing away from each other when we're cuddling on the couch to a movie and Shaun wakes up," Ethan chuckled. I leaned my chest against his back and wrapped my arms around his torso. One of his hands found mine and held them firmly around in place.

"You've still got to be properly introduced to Grace," Ethan said. Yeah, the mother. Mama bears were usually a little more selective of who they let into their kids' life, and with good reason. That one I was a little worried about. "Don't worry too much about it."

I walked into Ethan's bedroom – well, _our_ bedroom – and pulled my duffle bag out of the closet. I reached in to get my wallet out of the pants I'd been wearing yesterday when I saw something cradled in the nook of a crumpled shirt. Something blue and calling to me, like a siren. I picked it up and tossed it around in my hand, making my way into the bathroom.

There He was, staring back at me in the mirror. My smirk matched His, and that seemed to throw Him off for a moment.

"What's got you so chipper this morning?" He asked, that wicked grin returning, though twisted by some morose curiosity.

"I beat you," I said, loud and clear. His grin turned into a sneer.

"You really believe that you don't need me anymore?" He asked with a warning growl. "You might have succeeded without me in this instance, but you're still broken and incomplete without it. You still need me, otherwise I wouldn't be in your hand right now."

I looked Him dead in His eyes and held up the vial for him to see. "I beat you."

"Unlike you, I already know the ending to your story. Just because you have Ethan to keep your mind off of the calling doesn't mean that you've beaten anything. He'll die someday soon, maybe tomorrow, maybe next year – everyone in your life dies. And when he's gone, you'll realize that all you and I really have is each other. And you'll come back, like you always do. You won't forget me, nor will you try to destroy me. You'll keep me in your bag and return time and time again to cradle me in your hand and look at me until you will no longer have to see the color that you already know in your heart. And you'll carry me around like a source of pride in the face of a cruel and uncaring world. That's the truth, Norman; that's how our story ends."

I leaned forward on the cool ceramic of the sink and looked at my dark visage in the eyes.

"I. Beat. You."

And just like that, He was gone. I saw only my own reflection without His dark tint in my irides. A thin red stream flowed down my upper lip as my nose bled, but I wore it like a badge of honor. He was gone, and I wouldn't be seeing Him again.

I wiped off the blood and gripped the vial in my hand. I walked into the kitchen, where Ethan was cleaning up his mess and putting the eggs and butter back into the refrigerator. I sat at the counter and placed the vial on the smooth marble top. I waited as he finished up his dishes. When he turned and looked at me, I saw the lighthearted light in his eyes, and the smile on his lips. But they quickly vanished when he took in my somber expression, and then he finally looked down at the vial.

"What's that?" He asked suspiciously.

"Triptocaine," I said.

"Yeah – I know what it is, but why is it on the counter?" He asked. I pushed it closer to him, and he eyes me suspiciously.

"It's yours," I said. He squinted darkly, almost amusedly but mostly untrusting. And I had to fix that look; this was the only thing in our new life that was standing in the way of complete open honesty and trust. "I don't need it anymore – I don't _want_ it anymore. So I'm giving it to you to do what you will with it. Destroy it, throw it into a dumpster, put it up – I don't care, it's not mine anymore."

I saw the fain tugs of a smirk at the corners of his mouth as he reached forward and took the vial into his fingers. He gingerly cradled it in his hands like a fragile porcelain figurine, and glanced up at me.

"What about your backup plan?" He asked. "What about that woman?"

"I don't need it – I have you," I said. "You'll keep me in line."

He grinned and leaned across the counter, slipping his fingers into my hair and pulling me into his kiss. He got a little too excited and pulled me closer a little too rough, and in turn I bit his lip through the pain.

"Careful – splintered ribs and stitches," I reminded him. He rubbed his bottom lip, but laughed.

"I'm sorry," he said. He took my hand and let me into the living room, opening the curtains of the large bay window. He opened the window and leaned out.

"What are you doing?" I asked, a bit worried about how far out he was leaning. I nearly launched forward to grab his hips when I thought I saw him slipping, but he was just fine. He took the vial and tossed it out the window. I leaned over him and watched it fly across the street. The glass shattered on the pavement, and the rain washed the drug into the gutters. He sat on the couch below the window and pulled me down beside him. Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, he held me contently while we listened to the rain and felt its cool, sprinkling touch on the back of our necks.

We watched the midday news, and I saw Ash's face as he accepted his promotion to captain; like a kid in a zoo with the key to the snake exhibit. To our great surprise, we heard the door unlock and in walked Shaun, soaked from head to toe.

"Shaun, why didn't you call?" Ethan asked. Shaun sat his backpack down by the door and shook out his hair.

"I thought I'd walk," Shaun said nonchalantly.

"But it's raining," Ethan said. Shaun shrugged.

"I figured I had to face with it sooner or later," he said. I smirked and turned to Ethan.

"He decided he had to face it," I said smugly. "I'm betting that's from example."

Ethan rolled his eyes as he pushed himself up from the couch. "Well at least go get changed before you catch a cold." He ushered his son into his room and I watched contentedly.

So this was my life now, I thought. I'd be driving to soccer games and attending PTA meetings soon enough if I wasn't careful. But seeing Ethan and Shaun every day, I wouldn't trade that for the world. It was so strange, these paternal instincts that suddenly grow out of places inside of your heart that you didn't even know existed. I would take a bullet for Shaun in an instant; I'd already taken one for his dad, I figured it would only be fair.

I chuckled at that thought. With Madison dead and Blake in prison, I was hoping that day wouldn't be hitting me any time soon.


	15. Thanks For Reading :

Thank you for reading HEAVY INFERNO. Reviews are what kept this story going, so thanks to everyone who made sure to leave one! If you'd like to explore more about Ethan and Norman's relationship in this storyline, then please enjoy COLD GROUND, a follow-up to this story that begins two years after the events here.

To COLD GROUND (remove spaces):

w w w . fanfiction . n e t /s/7024977/1/COLD_GROUND

Thanks to Zara2148

Thanks to Coldsoul1315

Thanks to Sir

Thanks to Netherlady

Thanks to Anne192

And thanks to everyone who read the story all the way through to the end! :)


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